The Walls Around Our Hearts
by lesbianpapyrus
Summary: What happens when you build walls around your heart for protection, but refuse to take them down, even when they're destroying you? A slow burn Papyton fic about trauma, support, friendship, and true love. Trigger warnings apply; these include discussions of abuse, past rape, addiction, mental illness, and some implicit sexual content.
1. Celebration

**_No trigger warnings this chapter._**

 _Chapter 1 – Long Before We Ever Knew_

The waves of the sea broke gently on the shores of New Zealand. A soft breeze tickled the leaves of the nikau palms on the islands. The June sun shone warmly, unusually so for winter, on the quiet, expansive countryside and the closely confined, bustling cities. A single lonely, forbidding mountain cast a shadow over one such city—the lively yet charming metropolis of Auckland.

In the middle of the city, bells rang and happy screams and yells began to sound across the streets as children were let out of school for the day. Most of them would either walk home or run around the playground as they waited for their parents to pick them up.

Normally, Frisk Dreemurr would play while they waited for their adoptive mother, Toriel, to finish grading papers, attend staff meetings, and gather up her things to go home. But today they were getting picked up right away by a couple of their good friends.

Because today was special.

Today marked one year since Frisk had fallen into the Underground. One year since they had met the monsters. One year since they had made friends and family that they would never forget.

Because of that, there was going to be a special celebration at the Town Hall tonight. As the Monsters' Ambassador to the Humans, Frisk was slated to give a speech along with Asgore, the former King of the Underground. Then there would be a parade over to the Auckland Domain, a large park to the southeast of the Town Hall, where the monsters and humans would share food and talk together.

Frisk was excited as they exited the school building that day. They took a minute to enjoy the warmth of the sun. They thought of how much fun they were going to have tonight. They wanted only to think positive today.

Unfortunately, there was one thing on their mind that threatened to spoil the whole thing for them.

All of their wonderful friends were going to be there…

…except for a few.

"Hey, Frisk, are you gonna talk at the parade tonight, or you gonna hand-sign like you usually do?" A voice startled the child out of their thoughts. They turned to see one of their classmates, a young boy named Marama, standing by excitedly.

Frisk smiled. _Sign. Mom talk,_ they spelled with their fingers.

"Oh, okay, that's cool! My mom says we can go tonight. I'm gonna wave at you if I see you!"

"Hey, Frisk! We gotta get goin' now if you wanna rest a little bit before getting ready," a rough but friendly voice called out.

"Okay, bye, Frisk!" Marama ran off.

Frisk turned toward the other voice. Their face broke out into a big smile as two skeletons exited a red convertible. The child shot off like a rocket toward them and barreled into the taller one.

"Geez, Frisk, what are you tryin' to do, knock Papyrus into another dimension?" the shorter one chuckled.

"Of course they aren't, Sans, they're just happy to see us!" Papyrus ruffled Frisk's hair. "Come on, Frisk, give Sans a hug and then let's get going. Toriel said she wanted you home for at least an hour so you could have a snack, take a shower, change your clothes, and go over your speech before everyone comes over and we all leave for the parade!"

Frisk tried to hop in the front passenger seat, only for Sans to lift them with blue magic to the back. "Sorry, kiddo. You're not big enough to be up here."

"Sans, you're barely two inches taller than they are. Why don't you sit with them so they won't be lonely?" Papyrus suggested as he started the car.

Frisk grinned as Sans climbed defeatedly into the back. "Guess you all got me there."

Frisk stared out over the side of the car as Papyrus drove through the streets of Auckland. Now that the excitement of having the skeleton brothers pick them up from school was over, they were back to thinking about the friends who wouldn't be there tonight. They bounced their leg uncomfortably, then pulled a fidget cube out of their pocket and started to play with it.

Sans noticed. "You nervous for your speech?"

Frisk shrugged. They weren't overly fond of being up in front of a lot of people, but when you were an ambassador, you had to get used to it. Besides, they always had Toriel or Asgore speaking for them; they only needed to sign with their hands as the words were read.

"You'll do great, kid. You always do."

Frisk didn't respond.

"…I'm guessing that's not the issue."

Frisk finally shook their head. They put their fidget cube back in their pocket, but before they could start signing, Papyrus piped up.

"I think I know what the matter is! You're sad that Mettaton and his cousin are going to miss the celebration tonight!"

Frisk gave a tight smile and nodded.

"Oh, Frisk. Do not worry about them! I'm sure they're having a lot of fun, wherever they are! Though maybe not as much fun as we'll have here." He glanced in the rearview mirror and recognized that Frisk wasn't convinced. "I, too, miss them, although I've never actually met Mettaton and I think I only talked to that little white ghost once or twice…"

"Napstablook."

"Yes, Sans, Napstablook, thank you. Anyway, I bet they miss you and wish they could be here. But they're not. So they'll have to live with that."

Despite their worries, Frisk couldn't help but giggle at Papyrus's blunt and precise way of speaking. They knew he was right.

Mettaton, Napstablook, and their crew were currently finishing up a four-month world tour. Mettaton had jam-packed the trip with as many music concerts, fashion shows, and dramas as he could fit. And that was besides the time they spent sightseeing.

A few people had expressed concern upon seeing Mettaton's itinerary, saying it wasn't healthy to go to so many places and do so many things in so little time. But he hadn't listened. Mettaton never really listened to anyone or anything but his own heart. And while his heart was in the right place in certain respects, it was often too passionate and excitable and it pushed aside the needs of others, resulting in half-baked ideas, convoluted plans, and wonky execution.

The tour seemed to be going well, though. Every few days the monsters back in New Zealand would get reports—where Mettaton's crew was, what they were doing, which celebrity they were partying with that night. Mettaton always made sure the monsters at home knew they were remembered. He'd even tried to call Frisk's home the other night—unfortunately he'd forgotten about time zones and called at two in the morning on a school day. But Frisk hadn't minded. They missed the excitement the robot would bring to their life when he was at home.

The tour was supposed to end right about this time of year. The itinerary had left a little opening—probably at the insistence of Mettaton's trip advisors—at the end of it in case they had to put off an event or two. Frisk had hoped they would come home before the one year anniversary of their freedom, but apparently it wasn't to be. Mettaton had left a short but heartfelt message with Toriel expressing his team's regret at not being able to be there, and that he would make up for it when he got back, and that they all couldn't wait to watch the videos of Frisk's speech when they had time.

Although Frisk had appreciated the sincerity of the message, they were bitterly disappointed, and had shed a few tears over it. Fortunately, everyone else had been there to help get Frisk back on their feet and keep them going. Frisk had kept their feelings inside after that, but now that the day was here, they were revealing themselves once more.

Frisk kicked the back of the front passenger seat unhappily as the car crossed into Port Chevalier. They'd wanted _everyone_ to be present for such a happy celebration, but two of their favorite people and several of their other friends were stuck in Paris or Tokyo or Cairo or wherever they were now.

"Hey, kiddo. I know you're disappointed. But this is what's happenin' now. Pap is right; they have to live with their decision, and so do we," Sans comforted them awkwardly as Papyrus pulled into the sloped driveway of Frisk's house. "Uh, Pap? I thought we were gonna take 'em to our place."

"They don't have any of their clothes at our house, silly. And don't worry, Toriel gave me a key." Papyrus held it up. "Okay, Frisk, don't forget your instructions. Snack, shower, clothes, speech. Let's see how fast we can get all that done!"

Frisk put on a determined face, hopped out of the car, and bounded up to the porch of their stone-front brown split level house.

"Hey, Frisk. Hey, Papyrus. Hey, Trashbag." Flowey the flower waved at them from the front garden. Frisk stopped to give him a little kiss on the head before skipping up the porch steps and slamming into the front door.

"Geez, Frisk, you know you can't phase through that door, right?" Papyrus scolded them, helping them up and brushing them off.

"Yeah, you sure got excited in a hurry. And hey, you. Knock it off with the trashbag stuff or I'll bring out the sprinkler," Sans joked to Flowey.

"Okay, Shorty."

"Quit it, you two. We can't get distracted." Papyrus swung the door open. "Get in there, Frisk, we don't have all day! Sans, come on."

"Actually, bro, I'm gonna get back home and change myself. You probably don't want me wearing pink slippers downtown. Wanna drive me back?"

"Sans, we're literally down the street. You can walk. Or use one of your godforsaken lazy shortcuts. Good idea, though. You should wear those new sneakers I bought for you the other day! And maybe one of your science T-shirts. Not the one with the rude word on it, though."

"Yeah, okay, Pap. See ya in a few minutes." Sans teleported without another word.

"What rude word?"

"Never you mind, Flowey!"

Frisk had raided the pantry and was eating handfuls of cheesy corn chips when Papyrus walked into the large, brightly lit kitchen. "Come on, now, Frisk, you should've gotten something healthy! Why don't I cut you up an apple?"

Frisk pushed aside the bag of chips and rushed to the refrigerator before Papyrus could. They pulled out a container of strawberries and ran to the sink to rinse them off. "Or, I… guess that works too."

Papyrus closed the refrigerator door and picked up the bag of chips. Then he went and ate a couple of strawberries with Frisk. "These are really big and juicy, where does Toriel get these?" he murmured as Frisk shot off toward the staircase to the second floor. "Wha—hey! You left the berries out! And you left the tops on the counter! Am I going to have to clean this up?! And you still have to take your—!"

Frisk barely heard him; they were already in their room. They climbed the ladder to their loft bed and collapsed on it, glancing around the place. It was a lovely cornflower blue, with a soft carpet and a big window. The walls were covered with drawings and photographs of Frisk's family and friends, as well as posters for cartoons. Their bed was made with Disney's The Princess and the Frog sheets. Frisk rolled themselves up in the comforter, suddenly exhausted from their huge burst of energy.

Within a few minutes, Papyrus came in, looking around at books thrown haphazardly on the shelves, papers on a desk, and clothes and toys strewn all over the floor before realizing that Frisk was in their bed. "Good heavens, you're a messy kid," he marveled with some exasperation. "Good thing you live with Toriel, otherwise the whole house would look like an extension of Sans's bedroom. This place is messy enough as it is. I should come by and clean sometime." He stared at Frisk, who was still cocooned in their blankets. "Finally tire yourself out, did you? Well, we don't have time to waste. First, you need to take this." He held out a cup of berry juice he'd brought up with him in front of Frisk's face. "It's got your anxiety medication in it. Toriel said you might want it. Come on now, get out of there!" He set the cup down on the desk under Frisk's bed and extricated the child from the comforter with difficulty. Once they were out, Frisk willingly jumped down from the loft, took the cup, and drank it down. "Good. Have you picked out any clothes for today?"

Frisk pointed toward their dresser. On it lay an exact replica of the clothes in which they fallen into the Underground—a blue shirt with purple stripes, blue jeans, and little brown sneakers. The original clothing had been too torn and beaten up to wear in public again, so at Frisk's insistence, Toriel had scrounged every shop and searched online as much as she could to find the clothes, right down to the brand name. The old outfit lay on a shelf at the top of Frisk's closet, forever a reminder of their difficult but fruitful journey.

"Well, come on, then, take them to the bathroom and get cleaned up! I'm not going to do it for you," Papyrus chuckled. "Oh, Torielinstructed me to time you while you're in the shower because you take forever. You have ten minutes and then I'll knock on the door," he added as Frisk took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

Within that amount of time, Frisk cleaned up and came downstairs to the living room to allow Papyrus to comb their hair. Then Papyrus read Frisk's speech out loud as the child signed along with the phrases.

"I think you'll do very well, Frisk!" Papyrus praised them when they were done. "It's nicely written and your signing is very clear and accurate. Anyway," he checked the clock, "it's only about 4:30. Toriel should be here about now if her staff meeting didn't run over, and everyone else should arrive soon, too. How about we find something quiet and not-messy to do?"

In response, Frisk flopped onto the soft couch. Papyrus sat down and bounced awkwardly. "Are you going to take a nap? Do you want a story? I love hearing stories before I go to sleep."

Frisk shook their head, patted their own chest and pointed to Papyrus.

"You want to tell _me_ a story? Well…" He put his hand to his chin and thought for a minute. "I always love hearing about how you met and performed with Mettaton, but you probably don't want to think about him right now…"

Frisk shrugged. Even if they did miss Mettaton now, thinking of their meeting was kind of fun in a weird way. Sitting up, they began the story.

Papyrus watched with rapturous attention. He didn't look away once until the sound of the garage door opening startled him out of his focus. "That must be Toriel, finally! I was wondering where she got to."

Toriel hurriedly dropped her school bag on the kitchen table. "I'm so sorry I'm late! The staff meeting went way over, unfortunately, because the end of the term is soon. How are you, sweetheart?" She opened her arms for a hug as Frisk sprang toward her. "I'm glad to see you look ready. Did you have time to go over your speech?"

Frisk nodded.

"Good. I'm going to go clean up myself. Lulu is going to be here in a few minutes. Papyrus, would you mind getting Flowey into his pot?" Toriel asked as she headed for the upstairs. "I'd do it myself but there's hardly any time. Oh dear, where _is_ everyone else? I thought at least a few other people would be here by now…"

"Don't you worry, Toriel! The Great Papyrus has everything under control," the skeleton assured her, striking a heroic pose. Then he frowned. "Wait a second—what the heck—where's Sans? He went back to our house almost an hour ago, surely it couldn't have taken him that long to change his clothes?"

Frisk shrugged. Sometimes it could take that long for Sans to get something done, but usually those were days where time wasn't of the essence.

"He'd better not have fallen asleep," Papyrus grumbled under his breath. "I'll put Flowey in the kitchen and then I need to get Sans," he called up to Toriel, who nodded before disappearing into her bedroom.

Soon enough she had come back down, looking lovely in her old Ruins robes. She recombed Frisk's hair and helped them tie a yellow ribbon around Flowey's pot. Then she nervously started cleaning dirty dishes and fussing with her outfit, murmuring to herself the whole time. Within another few minutes they all heard the front door slam and she rushed to the short staircase to the entrance, hoping it was Lulu or Undyne or someone else they hadn't seen yet today. But it was just a very grumpy-looking Papyrus and a _very_ sheepish-looking Sans.

"You fell asleep?" Toriel asked Sans, completely unsurprised.

"I fell asleep," he admitted.

"You fell asleep _on the front porch,_ Sans! You hadn't even gotten into the house yet! I'll never understand how you do that," Papyrus grouched as they all headed back up to the kitchen.

"Well, it doesn't really matter that much. We're still the only people here. I thought I told everyone to come at 5?" Toriel worried, wringing her paws. Just then the doorbell rang. "It's open!" she called.

A rabbit monster with lilac fur rushed up. "Hey, Tori. Sorry I'm late, my sister had a small emergency with Clementine. They're alright, though, don't worry," she added as she saw Toriel's look of concern. "Hey, there, Frisk! Yeah, I'll take a hug, you give such nice ones. Say, where is everyone? I thought for sure I'd be the last one here."

"No, Lulu, you're early compared to almost everyone else. Only Papyrus has been here a while, he just had to go back and wake up Sans," Toriel sighed. She gave her girlfriend a peck on the cheek, trying to steel herself. "I have no idea where anyone else is! I know Mettaton and Napstablook can't come, but everyone else said they wouldn't miss it for the world."

The front door opened again as she finished speaking. "I certainly wouldn't want to miss this," a deep voice replied. Asgore had arrived just behind Lulu. "I'm sorry, Toriel. I would have been here much earlier, but someone vandalized the rosebushes at the school and the board wanted me to fix them before I left," the former king apologized as he joined everyone else, accepted a hug from Frisk, and adjusted his old royal tunic. "Undyne called, by the way, she had to go pick up Alphys at work because Alphys's car wouldn't start."

"Oh, good heavens, this is turning out to be such a disaster." Toriel sat at the kitchen table and put her head in her paws.

"Hey, it'll be okay, Mom," Flowey tried to soothe her.

"Yeah, he's right," Sans agreed, patting her shoulder. "We know where everyone is but Grillby now. And nobody's gonna mind if we're a few minutes late to the celebration. A lot of people are gonna show up and it's gonna take a while for them all to get settled." Another door slam. Sans squinted at the newcomer. "And… that's Grillbz."

Grillby waved and signed an apology to Toriel as he came up. Then he leaned down and placed his forehead against Sans's, a way that fire monsters traditionally greeted their lovers.

Frisk hugged Grillby carefully but excitedly. Now they just had to wait for two of their best friends to come.

Fortunately, that wait wasn't long. "WHAT'S UP, WEIRDOS?!" Undyne bellowed as she threw the door closed and strode up the stairs, followed by a rather red-faced Alphys. She tried to explain.

"I-I'm so sorry about being late, everyone! I tried to l-leave work early, really I did, but my car wouldn't start. I had to call a tow truck and then Undyne and then we had to wait for the tow truck to show up—"

"It's alright, everyone else only showed up a few minutes ago themselves," Toriel brushed off her apology. "We all just need to get going, we're supposed to be there at 5:30 and it's already after 5:20 and it takes 15 minutes to get there. Frisk, you've got your papers?"

Frisk displayed them.

"Good. Go get in the car—" Just then, her cell phone began ringing. "What now?" she almost wailed, scanning the screen rapidly. It was a FaceTime call. She froze as she saw the caller ID. "Well—we really don't have the time—but it's—oh, what the hell," she muttered and handed Frisk the phone. "Frisk, sweetie, it's for you."

Frisk pressed the green button to accept the call.

"Hell _oooooooo,_ darling!"

Frisk began grinning from ear to ear. They waved at the phone screen furiously.

The fabulous robot Mettaton gave a dazzling smile and wagged his fingers back. "Frisk, dear, I'm so happy to have caught you! I felt terrible about not being at the celebration, so I thought I'd call and give you some encouragement beforehand! I just can't _wait_ to watch you on video when we get home. I'm sure you'll do beautifully. You always were quite the little star—"

"This is so kind of you, Mettaton, but we're really running late," Toriel interrupted, placing a paw on Frisk's shoulder.

"Oh, dear!" Mettaton turned and beckoned someone over. "Blooky! _Blooky!_ Come here and say hi quickly before they have to leave!"

"Oh… hello, Frisk…" the forlorn voice of Napstablook came through. "Oh… you have to go…am I wasting your time…?"

"Of course not, Blooky, they love hearing from you. Anyway. I'm so sorry we have to cut this short, beauty. But before you go, I just want to give you a bit of happy news to keep in your heart while you wait! The crew and I should be home sometime next week!"

A disapproving noise from Undyne vaguely registered in Frisk's mind, but they didn't dwell on it. They started flapping their hands gleefully. This _was_ happy news—they would finally see their friends again after four months! While they were still pretty disappointed about Mettaton and Napstablook not being there now, they felt much better knowing they'd be able to talk to them soon.

"That's so good to hear, Mettaton. Thank you so much for calling. Let's say goodbye, Frisk." Toriel started to take the phone.

Frisk waved at the phone again. Mettaton blew a kiss. "Goodbye, darling! Knock 'em dead!" Then the call ended.

"Well, that's a nice bit of news. Now, for heaven's sake, let's _go!"_ Toriel practically bleated with impatience.

As everyone filed out to their cars, Frisk overheard Undyne muttering something to Alphys. "He _really_ couldn't have cut his trip a week short so he could be here for Frisk?" Alphys shushed her quickly, saying something about it not being the right time to discuss it.

Frisk's stomach dropped, but they shook off the feeling and followed Papyrus to his car. "You want to ride with me?" he asked, looking to Toriel for approval. She nodded. "Alright, then! Get in the back with Sans again, we're taking Grillby too so we won't have as many cars to park."

Papyrus pulled out behind Toriel and Lulu. "I can't believe you got a face-to-face call with Mettaton! Lucky you, I really wanted to say hi too…" he pouted a little.

Sans winked at Frisk. "You feeling okay now?"

Frisk nodded and smiled. They'd already forgotten Undyne's remark and were hardly nervous at all now, though that was probably due to the medication they'd taken earlier. But Mettaton's news certainly helped as well. They knew he and his crew were rooting for them. And they'd all be together again soon.

Right now, Frisk had Toriel and Papyrus and Sans and their other friends. And that was enough.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: I've pretty much lost steam to keep writing those pride month stories-my sincere apologies to anyone who was looking forward to more of those. Hopefully this new, multi-chapter, totally 100% gay friends-to-lovers slow burn Papyton fic will make up for it a little.

So yeah! This new fic! It's pretty much my baby, my big special project. I've been working on outlining stuff since at least May, maybe even before that. Currently there's 3 chapters up on AO3, so the next two chapters will be along in the next couple of days. I'm currently writing the 4th chapter.

General fic information:

\- You've probably noticed from the summary that this is a little darker than most of what I've written before. There's a whole longwinded explanation on why under chapter 3 on my AO3 page that I don't feel like retyping, so if you want to read that you can just go there (my username is butchpapyrus, like on here). If you have any questions about anything, you can PM me here or on either of the Tumblr blogs I have in my profile.

\- Generally speaking it's a 3rd person omniscient viewpoint, but when focusing on either Papyrus or Mettaton specifically, it might seem more limited. idk. Just roll with it, I'm having people beta this as I go so if it gets confusing I can change things.

\- This is very much a character-driven story rather than a plot-driven one. As in, most of my planning has gone into individual character development, relationship building, and dialogue. The plot seems more of a setup for this character building to happen. Is that realistic? Is that good or bad? idfk.

\- While I love Papyrus and Mettaton and Papyton to death, I wanted to go beyond their relationship with each other, so you should look forward to seeing how knowing each other affects their relationships with their families, their friends, and their own selves, especially regarding their past traumas.

\- When I said this was slow burn. I really meant slow burn. If you're as big a Papyton fan as I am, you might be screaming by the time the end rolls around. Don't worry, so will I.

Notes on this chapter:

\- I started with Frisk because why not. They were the one who fell into the Underground and started the monsters' adventures on the surface, after all.

\- I know, I know. Mettaton didn't even show up physically in this chapter. Which is why he gets next chapter all to himself :)

\- This chapter's title is a line from Tracy Byrd's "Keeper of the Stars" song. Normally I wouldn't take lyrics from a religious song for this kind of thing, but it worked. So I did.

Reviews are greatly appreciated! All I ask is that you be kind, if you don't like this pairing, you don't have to read it. Otherwise, encouragement goes a long way!


	2. Home

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 2 – With a Boy Like That, It's Serious_

Mettaton was definitely going to take a private jet the next time he traveled anywhere.

None of the plane trips had really been what he would call a disaster, but plenty of things had gone sour. The first-class seats were comfy, but still more cramped than the robot would have liked. He wasn't used to moving around so little, so his joints stuck and he was filled with a nervous physical energy he couldn't get rid of. The food wasn't very good for the most part, so he'd foregone it a fair bit, which drained his magical energy. He never really cared for any of the movie options they had. The charging ports weren't equipped to charge much more than a laptop computer, so he was often forced to go into sleep mode most of the flight to save his battery. At one point, a mistake had been made with his team's tickets, and they'd all had to sit in economy class, where it turned out the air conditioning wasn't working right. That had been an extremely uncomfortable night flight for all of them.

And then there were the fangirls.

The fangirls never seemed to stop coming. Everywhere he went, Mettaton was inundated with people asking for his autograph, wanting a hug, taking pictures and videos, talking to him. Of course, he didn't actually mind that for the most part; he knew full well he never would've achieved his dreams of becoming a star without his fans. He loved to interact with them and make them happy.

But there came a point where even Mettaton grew weary of the constant rushing and chattering and begging.

He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that their flight from Los Angeles had been put off for five hours because of mechanical troubles on the plane. On the one hand, they'd gotten back to Auckland Airport at nearly one in the morning, which meant that most people on the flight were too tired to notice that Mettaton was on the plane with them, which in turn meant he didn't have to deal with anyone. On the other hand, one in the morning was such an ungodly time to be awake when you had to be at work at 7 A.M., just another six hours away.

Mettaton yawned widely as he and his team exited the gate. He beckoned them all aside before they met their families and went to the baggage claim area.

"Alright, everyone, I know it's been a long four months, but things go back to normal tomorrow. I expect to see you all at work, 7 o'clock sharp, as usual," he said, trying to look firm and perhaps a bit intimidating.

Unfortunately, it was a little hard to look intimidating when you hadn't had a good sleep for almost twenty-four hours and had smudged makeup and mussed hair from napping. Everyone groaned openly, physically unable to care what their boss would think at that point.

"Mettaton, sir, you _have_ to be joking. We haven't seen our families in four months!" Lily, his hairdresser, protested.

"We can't possibly work on less than six hours of sleep." His personal assistant and secretary, Whetu, looked as though she might cry.

Mettaton rubbed his temples; he felt as though he were developing a headache. Could he even do that? _Don't change your mind, don't relent, you have to go in tomorrow,_ he reminded himself. He had to do paperwork, he had to look at his budget now that his tour was over, he had to schedule new events—

But really, who said he had to do all of that _tomorrow?_ It wasn't like it was filming, which was difficult to postpone. Paperwork could wait.

"You know what, forget it. We're all taking the day off tomorrow—uh, today. I'll put in a call or something when I get home," Mettaton decided. "Get some rest, I'll expect to see you all—well, I guess I'll see you all Monday since it's Friday and most of you don't work weekends. 7 A.M. sharp, and don't any of you forget it."

"But Mettaton, sir…"

"What, Burgerpants?" the robot snapped.

"Who's going to cover my shift in the food court? They'll expect me to be there—"

"Yes, Glosmer is not going to be happy if we're all missing when we said we'd be working," Whetu butted in.

"Well, Burgerpants, I'd assume the same person who's been covering you for the past four months would also cover you tomorrow! Come on, use your brain, it must be good for _something,"_ Mettaton responded scathingly. "And I said I would make a call for the rest of you! For heaven's sake, I just gave you all the free vacation day you just asked for, and now you're whining!"

Burgerpants, Whetu, and the rest of the team shuffled their feet and avoided Mettaton's eyes.

"Mettaton…. I think you should maybe calm down a little bit. They're just tired and worried…" a soft voice sounded from Mettaton's side.

He sighed, regretting his attitude a little. "I know, Blooky, you're right." He gave a small smile to his ghostly cousin before turning back to his team. "Look, none of you have to worry about anything. I'll take care of it all. Glosmer will have to listen to me. We all worked hard over the past few months and we deserve a break. After all, we can't do our best work when we have so little energy." He flashed what he hoped was a dazzling, encouraging smile. "So not another word! Let's go meet our families and get our bags. It's way too late to be standing around arguing like this anymore."

The group broke up slowly, the members murmuring amongst themselves. Mettaton was too tired to care what they might be talking about. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a few minutes as everyone but Napstablook and their tiny fish monster friend Shyren left the waiting area. "Sorry, guys, I just—I need a second. I think my battery might be a bit low." He did a quick check and was shocked to find that it was at about 71%. This definitely wasn't physical fatigue he was feeling.

Well, he couldn't dwell on it. He straightened and hefted his carry-on bag. "Come on, you two. We're dropping you off at your home first, right, Shyren?"

The three of them headed into the waiting area. The emptiness of the building, the darkness outside the windows, and the echo of Mettaton's footsteps gave the robot a very eerie feeling. Where was Alphys? She wouldn't have gone home without them, would she?

A loud creak made all three monsters jump. In his panic, Mettaton nearly went into his NEO form. As it was, he prepared a couple of attacks. "Who's there?!" he demanded, aiming at a dark figure exiting the ladies' restroom. "Get out here!"

A short yellow lizard monster came into the light and threw up her hands. "Mettaton, it's me! Don't attack!"

Mettaton's attacks disappeared immediately. "Alphys!" He rushed forth and grabbed her up in a giant bear hug.

Alphys wheezed, barely able to breathe. "I'm r-really happy to see you too, Mettaton, b-but you should let go soon if I'm gonna d-drive home!"

Mettaton set her back down. "Sorry, Alphie, I've just missed you so much. I can't wait to get home. Honestly, I'd almost like to watch an anime with you just so we can catch up."

"Y-yeah, well, not tonight. It's already past 1 A.M. God, your flight got in late. You're lucky I didn't fall asleep on the way here," Alphys yawned as the four monsters made their way over to the baggage claim area. Within ten minutes they'd gathered all their luggage and were trying to find Alphys's car in the parking garage.

"Damn it, which floor was I on…? You know what." Alphys pulled out her keys and hit the panic button. A loud honking sounded at least one floor up. Mettaton and Alphys sighed simultaneously before heading for the stairs.

Soon they'd found the car, thrown their luggage in the back, and begun the half-hour drive home. Mettaton had called shotgun. Napstablook and Shyren cuddled in the back, dropping off to sleep. Mettaton felt himself nodding off.

Alphys noticed. "Geez, I don't think I've ever seen you look this tired."

"I don't think I've ever _felt_ this tired." Mettaton rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand. I checked my battery back at the airport and it was over 70%. I shouldn't feel like this."

"I think… ugh, you're gonna hate me for saying this. I-I think you need to take a break, Mettaton. A _long_ break. You've been overworking yourself, and after such a long trip, it's finally showing," Alphys said quietly. "It's time to stop—"

" _Stop?"_ Mettaton interrupted incredulously, now wide awake. "You must be joking, Alphys. How could I just stop being a star? It's my life's dream! It's all I ever wanted! And my fans would just _die_ without me. I can't _stop."_

"Y-you didn't let me finish!" Alphys stuttered, gripping the steering wheel of the car more tightly. "I don't think you need to stop c-completely. I said _take a break._ Slow down. Enjoy life a little, for your own s-sake. This tiredness you're feeling—it's not your body, it's _emotional._ Mental. P-probably magical. And most likely it will eventually affect how well your body works," she added, knowing how much Mettaton cared about that. "I know it'll be hard at first, but… trust me. You'll thank me later."

"Look, Alphys, I know my limits. I'm not overworking myself. I mean, okay, maybe this trip _was_ a little much. But I'm working just the right amount to make me happy otherwise," Mettaton protested.

"You literally work seven days a week."

"Saturdays and Sundays are half-days."

"Th-that still counts! And when you're at home, I'm always f-finding you on the phone talking to your agents and scheduling things, or working on your new songs, or planning other things. You literally _never_ give yourself time to have fun."

"My work is fun. I don't need anything else."

"Well then—" Alphys was getting angry. "M-maybe consider that your family and friends need _you._ I hardly ever get to see you. Frisk almost never gets to see you offscreen unless they go visit your workplace. And when was the last time you had a conversation with Napstablook that wasn't about work? It's like you're completely ignoring us, M-Mettaton. Don't you r-remember the last time you did that?" she lashed out.

Mettaton's chest felt hot with disgust and shame. Part of him wanted to ask how she dared bring that up, but the rest of him knew she was right. He was making his past mistakes all over again. He swallowed hard before answering. "I know."

They were silent for a few moments. Alphys kept her eyes on the road, and Mettaton stared out his window.

"I'm sorry."

He looked back her.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have s-said that, I know you feel bad about—w-what happened." Alphys looked like she wanted to cry.

"No—no, Alphie, dear. Please don't feel bad," Mettaton tried to comfort her. "You—you're right. I really don't want… I don't want to abandon you or anyone else again. But I just…" He ran his hands through his hair nervously. "Whenever I'm not working, or just not busy—I start thinking, and I just… feel bad." He thought that sounded a bit flimsy, but Alphys seemed to understand.

"No, I-I get it. I feel the same way," she replied softly. "But i-i-it's still important to give yourself time to rest. Maybe if you spent some time with Frisk and the rest of us, you could take a break _and_ not have to think about anything that makes you feel bad."

Mettaton drew his legs up and leaned against his window. "Maybe. I don't know. I'd really rather stop talking about this. I'm too tired to think about it anymore."

"…okay."

More silence. Then Mettaton sighed. "Well, just one more thing, and then I'm done talking about it. I guess you'll be happy to know that I am giving myself and the team the day off tomorrow. Just tomorrow, though. I _will_ be going back Saturday. And everyone else will return when they have to."

"Yeah, I guess that's a start." Alphys tried to sound encouraging.

"Don't let me forget to write an email to Glosmer when we get home. He'll have my entire team's heads if I don't try to let him know we won't be there."

"Glosmer? I-is he your boss or s-something?" Alphys stuttered, trying to make small talk to make things less awkward.

"He's one of the executives at the film studio. So sort of, I guess."

"Oh. Cool. S-so, um, anyway… how was that whole tour? Pretty exciting, I guess?"

"Oh, yes. We worked hard and everyone seemed to love us. We saw a lot of nice things and met a lot of nice people, too." Mettaton pulled the lever to recline his seat. "I'm sorry, Alphie, but I really can't think right now. All I want to do is charge up and sleep."

"Yeah, okay. Sorry."

"It's fine."

Neither of them said another word until they dropped Shyren off at her house with her sister in Mount Roskill, where they said goodbye to her.

Another fifteen minutes and they finally arrived at their apartment complex. They all hauled Mettaton and Napstablook's luggage into an elevator and took it to the top floor, where they shared a luxury penthouse. Mettaton threw all his bags on the floor beside the door after Alphys unlocked it, too exhausted to even think of beginning to unpack. He took a few minutes to send an email to the executive on his phone, then murmured a good night to Alphys and his cousin.

He stumbled to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, not bothering to plug himself in before falling asleep.

Ω

When Mettaton woke, it was nearly two in the afternoon. He stared at his bedside clock uncomprehendingly, not used to being in bed and feeling so relaxed so late in the day. Oddly enough, he didn't really want to get up.

Eventually, however, he had to listen to his growling stomach—Alphys had programmed it so that it rumbled when his soul needed sustenance, much like a human stomach. He tried to get up, only to be pulled back unexpectedly. Mettaton looked down and saw his charging cord stretching from his chest to the wall outlet. He smiled a little. Alphys must have plugged him in while he slept. She was looking out for him.

He looked into his full-size mirror and grimaced. His hair was nearly a rat's nest and his lipstick and eyeshadow were completely smeared. And now that he thought about it, he felt really stiff and uncomfortable having spent the night sleeping in his shoulder guards and boots. He removed them and his chest plate and gloves and pulled on an old pink T-shirt and pajama shorts. Not really feeling up to wrangling with his hair, he pulled it up into a messy bun.

In the bathroom, he pulled off his face plate and scrubbed off the makeup. Then he had to apply makeup remover to his eyelids. He was extremely careful not to get any liquid on his facial machinery or anywhere else on his body, as it was not waterproof and too much moisture would damage him. The only exception was his mouth, since he had to eat. He sighed impatiently. He really wished Alphys would fix that already. He was tired of always having to wipe himself down to get clean instead of just taking a shower like everyone else.

Reattaching his face plate, Mettaton headed into the kitchen and started hunting down some food. As it turned out, there wasn't much he liked. He opened a cupboard. Instant ramen. He opened another. More ramen. He checked the pantry. Even more ramen. Was that the extent of Alphys's diet?

There was one lone box of corn flakes on the top shelf. Mettaton sighed and grabbed it. Then he found a quart of milk in an otherwise empty refrigerator. _Good heavens,_ he thought. _I do hope Alphys eats at Undyne's or orders out sometimes. There's no way she could survive just on what's in here._

Mettaton sat on a high chair at the kitchen island and tried to ignore the bland taste and slightly stale crunch of the flakes as he stared out the window at the harbor. He'd never felt so unsure of what to do with himself in his life. He struggled to make a list of things that needed to be done, but the only thing he could come up with was unpacking his suitcases. What could he do for fun, then? Watch television? He wasn't remotely sure what would appeal to him. Read a book? Reading large blocks of text was difficult after spending so much time just glancing over film scripts. Maybe he should go out and buy some proper groceries? But then he'd have to deal with people, and for once in his life, Mettaton didn't want to see any people. Besides, he had no idea what "proper groceries" really entailed.

By god, he had to find _something_ to do, or he'd be left with only his thoughts to entertain him, and whenever he started thinking, he always somehow reminded himself of his mistakes in the past, and then he started feeling horrible, and _that_ would either send him into a depression spiral or a bout of panic, and just the thought of either of those things was making him panic a bit, and—

"Oh, hi, Mettaton….…"

His cousin's voice suddenly tore Mettaton out of his imminent breakdown. He choked down his bite of cereal, coughing violently. After a few seconds, he was able to respond, "Blooky! I completely forgot you were here. Ugh, sorry about that, you just startled me."

"It's okay…...I'm sorry for scaring you…I'm glad you're finally awake, though." Napstablook floated above the island awkwardly.

"Yes. I'm sorry about that too. Of course you know I'd normally never sleep this late, but I've just felt so weird and tired. But I didn't get up until almost two today, can you believe that? I can hardly believe it. I just hope I sleep tonight, since I'm going in to work tomorrow," Mettaton babbled as he dropped his dish in the sink, having had enough of his barely-edible meal. He was incredibly relieved now that he had someone to talk to; now he wouldn't have to entertain his unsavory thoughts about himself.

"Oh…that's nice…"

Mettaton remembered Napstablook wasn't much of a conversationalist.

He bit his lip as he tried to think of something to say. "Well… I have to put away my things from the trip. You probably should too, if you haven't already. And if you have, maybe you could help me?" he suggested brightly, perhaps a little too much so.

"Okay, yeah…...sure, I can help you…."

Mettaton had taken mountains of clothes and makeup and accessories with him on the tour, but it still seemed like only minutes had passed by the time they finished clearing out everything from his suitcases. He dawdled in his walk-in closet, adjusting outfits and brushing off wigs, his mind racing to find some activity or conversation topic. God, Alphys had had good reason to ask him when he'd last had any kind of laid-back talk about something other than work with Napstablook. He had no idea what they liked anymore.

"So, um, Blooky, have you made any new music mixes lately? Besides the ones for work, I mean," Mettaton asked, leaning against the closet doorframe casually.

"Oh…not really…. I mean, I did start one this morning…. but it's no good yet…." Napstablook murmured shyly.

"Nonsense, I'm sure it sounds great already," Mettaton brushed off their concern. "Why don't you tell me about it? And honestly, I'd love to watch you create it! You work so hard on the music you do for my shows, and they're so good. I'm sure learning what you have to do to make it will help me appreciate it even more than I already do." To someone else, this might have sounded like flattery, but Mettaton meant every word he said. Even if he was just desperate to be distracted.

His words seemed to cheer up Napstablook a fair bit. They led him to their little corner in the living room where they'd set up their computer, DJ table, and personal sound system. For the next hour, the two of them did nothing but discuss Napstablook's music, how they made it, and what it meant to them. Mettaton had never heard his cousin talk this much, and he hung on to every word with ease. He didn't look away once until he heard Alphys arrive home from work.

"Mettaton?" she called in a suspicious voice. She obviously hadn't expected him to actually stay home today.

"In here, darling! Blooky's been telling me all about their music for a while now."

"Yeah…...he only got up a couple of hours ago…"

Alphys set her work bag down on a coffee table, looking slightly defeated. "W-wow. I can't believe you really didn't go in to work."

Mettaton put on a sugary-sweet smile to annoy her. "Of course not. You really think I don't keep my promises?"

Alphys blinked. Napstablook looked away. And Mettaton's stomach dropped as he realized what he'd said unthinkingly. He knew that he'd just ruined his own afternoon with a single sentence. _God, I'm such an idiot._

Alphys cleared her throat uncomfortably and tried to change the subject. "W-well, um. I had some free time at work today and I was able to prepare some new software updates for you, Metta. I'll finish them up here and if you're up to it, I can install them later."

"Yes, that sounds lovely. Although what I really need right now is probably some waterproofing," Mettaton hinted very obviously. "It's becoming a real pain to have to watch myself so closely around liquids. Honestly, I don't know how you thought to give me tear ducts and make me able to eat and drink, but not make the rest of me resistant to water."

"We l-lived in Hotland! Water damage wasn't exactly a-an issue there," Alphys defended herself. "And I have been trying. I have a design for an airtight plastic lining that would go over your endoskeleton and circuitry and stuff. I-I just have to figure out how to make it so it doesn't melt if you get overheated."

Mettaton draped himself dramatically over the armrest of their couch. "Better hurry it up, dear. Someday we both might regret you not making this body waterproof in the first place."

"Oh, s-stop being such a drama queen," Alphys muttered, opening the pantry for a snack. "Just stay out of the rain and stuff and you'll b-be fine. Do we really only have ramen in here?"

Mettaton raised his eyebrows. "Don't ask me. I'm not the one who buys it. And I hope to god that's not been the only thing you've been eating this whole time."

"No! N-no, I actually eat takeout a lot. Napstablook tried to share their ghost food, but my soul didn't seem to gain any energy from it."

"Of course not, it's _ghost_ food." Mettaton rolled his eyes, but not bad-naturedly. "Honestly, takeout isn't much better than ramen. And you keep telling _me_ I'm not healthy."

Alphys spluttered, but she couldn't get out any coherent words before the doorbell rang. She looked over at Mettaton, who was closer to the door. "G-guess I'll get it, you're n-not exactly decent," she sighed as she made her way over.

Mettaton wrinkled his face at her. "I am too decent, just not fancy," he retorted in a playfully mocking tone.

Alphys gave him a look, then broke into a slightly exasperated chuckle as she answered the door. She was nearly bowled over as a small speeding blur seemed to embrace her briefly, then bounced off her like a springboard toward Mettaton. Caught completely off guard, Mettaton _was_ bowled over on his back on the couch as the blur hit him. He realized what—or who, really—it was when it latched onto him tightly with both arms and legs.

"Oh, Frisk, darling! Hello, honey, I'm so happy to see you too." Mettaton hugged the child as tightly as he could without hurting them. "Wow, you've, uh, really been working on your grip, haven't you?"

"Frisk?" Toriel's head popped in the doorway. "Oh, thank goodness they found their way up here. They just shot off the minute they got out of the car. Sorry if they were a bit overenthusiastic coming in…"

"O-oh, it's okay, T-Toriel. It's just good to see them happy again. They've b-been kind of down lately," Alphys stuttered a little, blushing. Mettaton shot her a look, knowing full well what the blush meant. Alphys glared at him furiously, silently threatening him if he said a word.

"Yes, it's totally fine! I haven't had a hug this nice in ages. That said, Frisk, dear, you do have to let go eventually." Mettaton patted their back gently. "Come on, now."

Frisk released the robot reluctantly, but immediately skipped over to Napstablook and gave them a significantly gentler hug than they had given him. "Oh, hello, Frisk…. it's so nice to see you again, you're always so kind to me…." Napstablook seemed to smile at them.

Frisk then faced both of the cousins and began to sign. _Dinner tomorrow 5._

Mettaton ran over the translation in his head. "Oh—is this a dinner invitation?" he asked, looking at Toriel.

She smiled cheerily. "It is indeed! We're having all of Frisk's good friends over at our house. We do it every once in a while. Since you're home now and you've never been to one, we'd love for you to come!" she encouraged. "Usually everyone brings a dish, but you don't have to worry about that, since you've been quite busy."

"Yes, and I still am. Even if it doesn't look like it," Mettaton added, remembering his unusually casual appearance. "I really—" He sighed regretfully. "I honestly don't know if I'll be able to make it. I have so much paperwork to catch up on, and I haven't done anything today. I might have to make it a full day at work tomorrow instead of a half day like usual, and that means I'll be home too late to come to dinner."

Frisk looked as though they might cry. Toriel looked rather disappointed herself. But it was Alphys, crossing her arms disapprovingly behind Toriel, that changed his mind.

"Well, you know what, they can stick all that paperwork. It can wait, and if they want to complain, they can stick _that,_ too," he declared, standing up. "I'll come to dinner tomorrow. And I'll even bring something for everyone to enjoy."

The tension in the room immediately dissipated. "Fantastic! We can't wait to see you there. My house at 5, although you might want to arrive early." Toriel was smiling again. "Come on, my child," she said to Frisk, who was bouncing up and down vigorously. "You need to finish your homework, and then you can spend all day tomorrow and Sunday playing. And Mettaton," she added, looking back at him, "thank you so much. Frisk really needs this."

"It's no problem at all, darling. I can't wait," he replied as he embraced Frisk again. "I hope you have a beautiful rest of your day, sweetheart. See you tomorrow."

Frisk hugged Napstablook and Alphys again, and they and Toriel said goodbye. After they left, Alphys turned to Mettaton. "S-so you're really going to go?"

He glared at her. "Yes, of course, I said I was!" he huffed. "Why are you always doubting me? Do you really think I'm not trying? I really—I really—" He was too upset to finish, partially because he was frustrated with her lack of faith, and partially because he knew she had good reason for it. He sat on the couch and turned his back to her. Napstablook hovered next to him uncertainly, but in a vaguely comforting manner.

"N-no… no, I-I-I'm sorry, Mettaton. That's—that's not what I mean," Alphys apologized feebly, feeling terrible for her thoughtless question.

"No, that is what you mean. But honestly… I get it. I'm not good at keeping promises and being there for people," Mettaton said listlessly. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "But I'm going to keep this one. I'll be there this time. I swear."

Alphys nodded and avoided his gaze. "Yeah. I, uh—yeah."

To her surprise, Mettaton stood, picked her up, and held her close. She held on to him too, taking in the feeling of the warm, tough metal and faint smell of oil.

"I'm sorry, Alphie." It sounded like Mettaton was crying. "I'm such a drag—I come home after four months and I act like this. We're supposed to be happy to see each other…"

"Metta, I-I know. I am happy to see you, happier th-than I think I can express! I think w-we just… have a lot we need to talk about. But I understand if you don't want to do that r-right now, it's really not the best time." Alphys pushed away gently so she could look him in the eye. "You're a good person, Mettaton. And I d-do like being your friend."

"Right." Mettaton didn't believe her, but he didn't want to argue, either. He set her back down on the floor.

For a moment neither of them said or did anything, until Napstablook gently bumped Mettaton's arm. He smiled a bit and hugged them to his chest, the little ghost's presence more comforting than anything else that had been said that day.

He retreated to his room after that. He was tired. Tired of being awake, tired of arguing with people, tired of battling his own thoughts. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do something to distract himself or if he just wanted to rest.

He lay back on the bed and picked up his phone, deciding to see if anyone had wanted to talk to him on Twitter or something. Even if no one did, he decided he should probably make some of kind of homecoming announcement. Then notifications would probably come flooding in, and he wouldn't have to think anymore, just type.

Briefly his mind visited the possibility that the higher-ups at the studio might be angry with him tomorrow. But he brushed aside the concern. Everyone there knew that Glosmer and the rest of the executives ran the studio, but _Mettaton_ ran the show. Nobody would want to risk pissing off the nation's biggest celebrity. It was serious business to mess with the robot.

Work would go fine, and the dinner would be even better.

Mettaton had nothing to worry about.

He was too fabulous and everyone loved him too much for anything to go wrong.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: it's almost 4 am and I just. decided to post this anyway because why the fuck not. have a mettaton chapter. y'all just got a first glimpse of his internal conflict. I love my boy and it's gonna destroy me to write him finally hitting rock bottom, but this is the path I've chosen and there's no turning back now.

anyway. this chapter's title is from Eros and Apollo, a Studio Killers song.

Reviews are appreciated!


	3. Broken Memories

_**Trigger warnings:**_ ** _implied/referenced abuse and assault, very mild hint of sexuality._**

 _Chapter 3 – Pieces of Broken Memories_

 _You're a disgusting creature._

 _How could you do this to me? To US?_

 _How dare you._

 _Stop struggling._

 _I know this hurts right now, but you'll thank me later._

…

 _You're such a beautiful thing._

 _I can tell you want this._

 _Don't look so scared._

 _Stop struggling._

 _This might hurt at first, but you'll enjoy it soon._

Mettaton's eyes snapped open.

His face seemed to sting slightly, and his lower stomach throbbed, ghosts of the pain of the past.

His heart hurt far worse.

He felt unable to move; he could only clench his fists tightly, digging his nails into his palms, trying to rid his mind of torturous memories.

He was so, so tired of this.

Some of this was old—how long _had_ it been? Six years? Seven?

He'd thought he was getting over it. He was in a new body, a new place, had a better life with better people.

And then his world had shattered once again.

He just wanted it to end.

Why couldn't it end?

He finally managed to stretch out of his sleeping position: curled up as small as he could be, knees pulled up against his chest, hands tucked under his chin, hugging a section of his blankets. Every night, no matter how he fell asleep or who might be with him, he always ended up like that.

He looked over at his clock. 3:17 A.M. He groaned. He didn't have to be at work until 7 and usually he didn't get up until 5:30. He did _not_ consider going back to sleep to be an option. Not after nightmares that vivid.

He had to find something to do, and soon, or his mind would wander to those unsavory places it always did… He could already feel a familiar throbbing between his legs. He brought his knees back up to his chest and clenched them together tightly. No way in _hell_ was he doing that today. It had been four months since his last relapse into that disgusting behavior, and he wasn't going to ruin that two days after getting back home.

Two days.

 _You're pathetic,_ Mettaton told himself. _You arranged that whole silly trip so you could get away from all this and get over it. It's been long enough, it happened, let it go already._

Berating himself did not help. If anything, he felt worse than before, if that were even possible.

God, it was days like these that made him just want to _die._

But he couldn't do that. Frisk was counting on him to be at that dinner tonight, and he wasn't going to let them down again.

The dinner! Toriel had said he could make something if he was up to it, hadn't she? So he should figure out what to make. That would get his mind off things.

Mettaton got up, opened up his laptop computer, and started searching for a recipe.

What would everyone like? Who else was even going to be there? Himself, Napstablook, Frisk, Toriel, Alphys—

Oh no.

Undyne was probably going to be there.

Mettaton didn't have anything against her personally, but the few times they'd met, she sure seemed to have it out for him. Well, maybe that was a bit dramatic. She wasn't unnecessarily cruel to him, but she taunted him far more than she did anyone else, and he always had a vague feeling that in some ways she might actually quite dislike him.

Granted, he _had_ kind of broken into her house once to feed himself grapes on her piano. But how many pianos had there been in the Underground? Maybe two? And one of them had been directly under the rain in Waterfall, so what else was he supposed to do? And was that really enough to make Undyne hate him?

Who cared, anyway. Frisk would probably keep them all occupied enough that Mettaton wouldn't have to talk to Undyne much. And if worse came to worst, Alphys would be around to defuse any bad situation.

His thoughts returned to cooking. What would everyone like? And more importantly, what could he make on short notice after work? Some kind of fruit dish, maybe? He started looking up recipes for fruit salad. Not the most interesting meal, but surely he could find some way to spice it up.

Soon he found something that looked promising. A simple summer fruit salad with some kind of vanilla-brown sugar sauce. The prep time was a bit long, but that was mainly because it needed to be chilled for a couple of hours, and there wasn't any reason Mettaton couldn't cut that short.

He just needed to get the ingredients somehow. He knew for a fact they didn't have any fruit, juice, sugar, or vanilla extract in the apartment (good lord, he still wondered how Alphys had gotten by).

Alphys! She didn't work on Saturdays. She could go out and buy them for him, and he'd pay her back later. That would work. He dug around for a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote down the list, then went out and slipped it under her door.

One thing down.

But it wasn't even four o'clock.

Mettaton could already hear the voices echoing in his head again.

What else could he do?

He could just go into work early.

Very early.

The people there would probably love that, actually, considering everything he had to do, especially since he hadn't come in yesterday.

Although it wasn't likely anyone would be there before 6.

Mettaton got ready as slowly as he could without risking his thoughts drifting. Pink chest plate. Shoulder guards. Black pants that showed off all his curves. Pink three-inch-heeled boots. Winged eyeliner, smoky eyeshadow, thick lashes, arched brows, pink-tinted cheeks, black lipstick—all applied impeccably. Repainted shining fingernails, filed to perfection. His favorite hairpiece, which he'd painstakingly picked the knots out of last night, combed and sprayed the way he liked it. White gloves to protect his freshly done nails.

He stood in front of his mirror, legs spread, hands on hips, face haughty and dignified. He repeated his power mantra in his head.

 _I am Mettaton._

 _I am beautiful._

 _I am strong._

 _I am intelligent._

 _I am glamorous._

 _I am powerful._

 _I am Mettaton._

Perfect.

He was ready to go.

Mettaton decided he'd get breakfast at work, like he'd done before the tour; eating stale corn flakes again did not appeal to him, and who knew how old most of that ramen was.

"Let's see, wallet, phone, car keys, yes, that's everything," he muttered under his breath as he checked his purse. "Let's get going, then."

Just as he was leaving his room, he caught sight of a framed picture on his dresser, one he hadn't looked at in a long time. He picked it up, feeling a little guilty for leaving it behind when he'd left all those months ago. Three figures stared back at him: a tiny pink ghost, a larger red ghost, and another larger ghost who was completely blacked out so their color was indistinguishable.

Mettaton pressed two fingers to his lips and laid them on the red ghost's image. _Thanks for believing in me,_ he thought. Then he set the frame down and headed for the front door, a renewed courage blossoming in his soul.

At 4:56 A.M., Mettaton set out for his first day of work at home in four months.

Ω

Papyrus woke up in a cold sweat.

Which was rather unusual considering he was a skeleton, and skeletons didn't normally produce sweat unless they were under great stress.

Well, he supposed _great stress_ was one way to describe what he was feeling.

God, he hated nightmares. He was already an insomniac. He didn't need bad dreams to interrupt what little sleep he already got.

He couldn't even make sense of them. Most of the time, he was just running. Running from something he couldn't see clearly, nor hear properly, nor feel unless it sank its icy claws into him upon catching him.

And it always caught him.

And when it did, the pain came, and it didn't subside until he was jolted awake, his dreamself unable to withstand it any longer.

The other dreams he had were less abstract, but just as confusing.

A cold surface. Blinding lights. White walls. A voice calling his name, only his name was a jumble of letters and numbers instead of a single word.

And pain.

No matter what he was dreaming about, there was always pain.

Lately it'd felt like Papyrus was having these dreams every night. And as weird and nonsensical as they could be, they always felt so _real._

But every night he woke back in his room. Back in his racecar bed, with his action figures on the bedside table, the glowing stars on the ceiling, everything in its place. Only the agony stayed real.

He just wanted it to end, to stop feeling so badly.

Fortunately, there was one person who could help alleviate the pain temporarily.

Papyrus could vaguely hear Sans snoring from the other bedroom and couldn't help but smile a little. He and his brother were opposites in almost everything, even medical sleeping conditions—Sans had probably the worst case of narcolepsy Papyrus had ever seen (granted, he'd never met anyone else with it).

The one thing they shared was their unbreakable bond.

Papyrus didn't have any problem with waking Sans in the middle of the night, so he tossed the covers back and headed into Sans's room, flouncing onto his bed and startling the smaller skeleton into wakefulness.

"Holy sh—oh. Hey, bro," Sans murmured, rubbing at his eye sockets. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah." Papyrus held his breath a minute, trying to steel himself. He failed. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Sans," he started to sob. "I don't know what any of this _means,_ it's like it's happened before, but I don't remember any of it, but it _hurts,_ I just want it to _stop—"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!" Sans sat up and took Papyrus's hands as he hyperventilated. "Don't panic, bro, I know this seems real, but it's not, you're gonna be okay. Grounding phrases, Papyrus, can you tell me your grounding phrases?"

Papyrus gulped and slowly recited seven sentences to help bring himself back to reality.

"I-I am Papyrus.

"I live on the s-surface.

"I have a brother who loves me.

"I have lots of friends who love me.

"I will be okay.

"I am safe.

"I am free."

He exhaled for several seconds after the last sentence.

"Good," Sans whispered. "You feelin' a little better?"

Papyrus nodded. Then he let go of Sans's hands and flopped back on the bed. "Sans… do you… I know you said the dreams aren't real, but what if they are?"

"Whaddya mean, bro?"

"I mean… what if whatever occurred in the dreams… what if it really happened?" Papyrus turned to Sans desperately for reassurance, information, _something._ "Did something happen to us, Sans? Why can't I remember anything?"

His brother shifted very uncomfortably and avoided his gaze. "Nah, Pap. They're just… dreams. Nothin' to worry about. Minds are just… weird things. Always makin' somethin' outta nothin'." He stretched and lay back on his pillow.

Papyrus could tell Sans was lying, but he was too exhausted to pursue the issue further. He was already regretting saying as much as he had. Sans had more important things to worry about, like recovering from his depression and bringing up his HP. He didn't need Papyrus's silly nightmare problems on top of that. No wonder he'd looked uncomfortable.

Sans sighed and looked at the clock. "Good thing neither of us work on Saturdays, huh."

"Sans, you don't work at all."

"Do too."

"Getting out of bed isn't work."

"Didn't mean that. I've, uh, actually been trying to pick up odd jobs around the neighborhood. Get some exercise, some sunlight, see if it helps with this low HP problem. I think it might be working, I don't know."

"Really? I'm so proud of you, brother!" Papyrus propped himself up on one elbow. "This is fantastic news. I do hope it means you'll be getting a real job in the future. You know, if that's really what you're up to lately, I think we should go over to Toriel's early tomorrow and help her set up for that dinner. I think she wanted to hold it outside since the weather is supposed to be beautiful. You'd get some exercise and sunshine from that!"

"Alright, bro, alright," Sans chuckled. "Guess arguin' with that would make me look like a lazy ass now."

"Yes, I suppose it would. Though I wouldn't put it so vulgarly." Papyrus launched himself off the bed suddenly. "Well, I'm definitely not sleepy anymore. What say we start getting ready for the day, maybe go on a walk?"

Sans stared incredulously. "It's 3 in the morning, are you kidding me?"

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Uh, going back to sleep?"

"I just said I wasn't sleepy!" Papyrus sat on the bed in frustration. "I have to do _something—_ like maybe tidying up this room." He glared around at the pile of socks in the corner, the papers and books spread all over the floor, the creasy bedsheets, and that infernal self-sustaining tornado of garbage that had somehow followed them up from the Underground when they'd first moved here.

"Don't touch my stuff."

"Most of your 'stuff' is trash, Sans. And I'm not being mean when I say that, I mean it's literally trash." Despite his brother's weak protests, Papyrus began picking up chip bags.

Sans watched him emotionlessly for a few minutes. "You know, bro… you really gotta stop doin' this to yourself."

"Doing what to myself?" Papyrus asked, intentionally not facing his brother.

"All… this. Constantly working on really small amounts of sleep. You're gonna run yourself ragged, and then you're gonna get sick, or hurt yourself. You might even lose stats," Sans added. "And you know how hard it can be to build stats back up."

"Yes, brother, I am aware. But I assure you, I'm fine. I've slept just fine the past few nights," Papyrus lied through his teeth. "One night of bad sleep isn't going to hurt me. Now, I will continue what I'm doing and I won't—hey, _HEY!_ Don't you _dare_ use that blue magic on me—!"

Sans paid no attention to Papyrus's sputtering as he dragged him into the bed. "Come on. We're goin' to sleep again. Let's dreamshare."

"I don't want to dreamshare! I don't—" But Papyrus was already growing weary again. He settled grumpily back on Sans's pillow. "I don't want any more nightmares."

"And you won't have any more tonight. We're both good at dreamsharing, we know how to avoid certain things." Sans held out his hand. "Come on."

A deep sigh. "Fine."

They locked hands.

"You'd better think of something good, Sans."

"Alright, Pap. I think I got somethin'."

Within minutes they were both asleep, souls pulsing in unison as they shared a happy dream.

There was only one sign that not all was right—a small metal plate drilled into the inside of each brother's radius, reflecting the glow of their souls into the dark of night.

Ω

Mettaton stopped his pink Aston Martin in the parking lot of the film studio, but didn't get out right away. He stayed still a minute, fingers tight around the wheel, closed his eyes and exhaled.

This was where it had begun. Where he'd met _him._ That bastard who had…

Mettaton shuddered and forced himself out of the car before he could finish the thought.

His car was the only one in the parking lot, and all of the buildings looked dark and empty. He glanced around anxiously; it was nearly 6, shouldn't someone be here unlocking the doors and getting everything ready for the day? He'd deliberately taken the scenic route to work, trying to waste time so he wouldn't be _alone._ He seriously considered getting back in the car and just driving aimlessly about until someone got there.

Fortunately, after a minute or two, another car pulled into the lot by the maintenance shed, and Mettaton recognized the face of one of the janitors he'd talked to a fair bit before he'd gone away. She seemed delightedly surprised to see him again, and they chatted briefly as she unlocked the main door to the building.

Mettaton hesitated a second before going in. _He won't be there,_ he assured himself. _He's gone. He's been gone a long time._

 _But what if he came back while_ you _were gone?_ some dark part of his brain disputed.

Mettaton was getting so tired of this constant war within his mind. _He won't show up later,_ he thought as he stepped inside decisively. _I'll be back in this room later in the morning, and I'll look at that place by the stairs, and he won't. Be. There._

He said his goodbyes to the janitor before heading up to his private office and collapsing in his chair. He could already tell it was going to be a long day.

At least he could look forward to seeing Frisk in the evening.

Ω

The dreamsharing had worked temporarily; Papyrus had gotten exactly one good hour of sleep out of it.

By 4:30 he was up for the day. Sans had woken momentarily when the dream stopped, but Papyrus had coaxed him back to sleep within seconds. Then he ate a light breakfast and tried to figure out what he had to do today. The only thing he could think of was cooking for the dinner tonight, but if he started that now, it wouldn't be fresh for mealtime.

There was nothing to clean, nowhere to go, nobody to talk to this early in the morning. The longer he stayed idle, the more uneasy Papyrus felt, forced to confront, however briefly, the vague memories of dreams in his head.

He'd go for a run and turn his music up really loudly so he couldn't hear anything else, he decided quickly. That could distract him for hours, or at least until it was a more decent time for him to cook.

He pulled on a thin black spandex bodysuit, the same one he always wore under his battle body, hesitating as he pulled down the sleeve of the right arm. The plate attached near the wrist glinted in the soft light of his bedside table lamp. For a second he froze completely, unable to stop staring at the seemingly meaningless jumble of letters and numbers and the strange illegible word engraved on the plate. For a moment it was as if he were back in his dreams.

Then he shook himself violently. Why did he still do that after all these years? The plate was not new, it had been there since he was at least twelve years old, probably even longer. And yet, whenever he saw it, he was pulled right into his suppressed misery. Which was one reason he hid it all the time. The other reason being that he feared others would ask why it was there, and he was not able to answer.

Well, he wasn't going to think about that anymore. He was more determined than ever to go on that run. He pulled down his sleeve completely and finished dressing in his jogging clothes.

The sky was still dark and crickets were still chirping as Papyrus left the house. He stopped at the end of the driveway, letting the coolness of the air seep into his bones and listening to the early morning sounds. The peacefulness almost made him want to forgo the run and just sit outside for a while.

But he figured the peace couldn't last long. It never did. Too much quiet eventually made him nervous, and something would inevitably remind him of his disturbing dreams.

It was why he always had to keep moving. Keep talking. Keep doing.

It was the only thing that made him feel _okay._

Papyrus put on his headphones, turned the volume up as loud as he could stand, and began jogging down the sidewalk. If he only focused on the music in his ears and the road in front of him, and ignored the dull pain pulsing throughout his body, he'd be alright.

No more metal plates. No more strange nightmares that seemed like memories. No more fleeing. No more bright lights. No more pain.

Just haunting melodies, and beautiful nature, and quiet houses, and darkness.

Pure, sweet darkness.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: heeeeeeeeeeeey here's the latest completed chapter. things get a lot darker here. now you're starting to see the things that really haunt Papyrus and Mettaton. Both of them are already running ragged, and for a while it's just gonna get worse.

But they'll be happy in time.

This chapter's title is from This Is Gospel by Panic! at the Disco.

Gimme those sweet reviews if you liked it, or have questions, or you wanna make some suggestions!


	4. Falling

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 4 - You Fell Right Into My Arms_

"Sans, are you almost ready to go?"

"Yeah, bro, just a sec."

Papyrus tapped his foot impatiently as Sans pulled his shoes on. "We could have been there an hour ago if you hadn't been napping in the bathroom."

"That was an accident, Pap," Sans mumbled.

"You've been having a lot of those lately. I do hope you'll be able to stay awake and have some fun," Papyrus said as they left the house. He started loading a Crock-Pot of tomato sauce into the back of his car next to a bowl of fresh spaghetti noodles as Sans locked the front door.

"I'll try, dude, but it's getting harder and harder for me to keep my eyes open these days," sighed Sans as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Papyrus got on the driver's side and started the car. "Maybe we ought to get you looked at, then. See if we can't get some medicine to help keep you awake."

"Only if you get looked at for your sleep problems."

Papyrus's hands tightened on the wheel. "What sleep problems?" he demanded, glaring at Sans from the corner of his eye. "I told you I've been sleeping just fine. There's no need for anyone to get involved in my sleeping habits."

"You were up before 5 this morning, Pap. I heard you get up. And it's not the first time. I'm not as heavy a sleeper as you think." Sans couldn't hold Papyrus's gaze as they were driving, but he stared at the rearview mirror trying to catch his brother's eye nonetheless.

"I'm fine. I'm not going to talk about this anymore." Papyrus did not speak the rest of the few blocks' drive to Toriel's house, and Sans did not try to engage him.

Frisk and Flowey were waiting out front when the brothers reached their house. Both children could sense some tension between the skeletons as they unloaded the food from the car. "What's up with you guys?" Flowey asked as Frisk signed, _What's wrong?_

"Don't worry about it, kiddos. We're fine." Sans changed the subject quickly. "Where does your mom want us to put this stuff?"

"Kitchen counter. All the food's supposed to stay in there like a buffet table while we eat outside," Flowey said. "Careful though, Mom dropped a couple of plates a few minutes ago and she and Aunt Lulu made us wait out here while they clean up."

"Then we'll certainly have to help them!" Papyrus cried as he struggled to open the front door without dropping his Crock-Pot. "In the meantime, I give you two the job of official greeters! You must say hello and direct everyone where to go when they arrive. Can I trust both of you with this essential duty?"

Frisk saluted smartly and plopped down on the front porch stairs, watching the street. "Yeah, direct everyone where to go, like we don't have these dinners every freaking week," Flowey grumbled, but he dove underground and popped up next to Frisk's feet begrudgingly.

Toriel and Lulu were picking up the pieces of broken plate when the skeleton brothers joined them in the kitchen. "Hey, boys," Lulu groaned from her position, squatted on the floor. "You can put that stuff—"

"On the counter, Flowey told us," Papyrus finished. He plugged the Crock-Pot into the wall to keep his sauce warm. "What else can we do? I'll not have us standing around when we can help with something!"

"Oh, of course," replied Toriel. "You can start by taking those good plates"—she pointed to the kitchen table—"and setting them on the table on the deck out there."

"Right away, madam!" Papyrus saluted and turned neatly on his heel to go get the plates. He left the sliding glass back door open as he set them out, counting each one. "There's twelve plates here!" he cried. "That's two more than usual."

"Yes, well, that's because we're finally having Met—"

"Don't! Don't tell him," Sans interrupted Toriel hastily. "He'll get too excited and you'll have more broken plates on your hands."

It was evident Sans thought Papyrus couldn't hear him, but Papyrus took note of every word. What did Sans know that _he_ didn't?

He didn't have time to dwell on it, however. Toriel and Lulu still needed his help inside, and he wasn't one to stand around idly and leave things undone.

Ω

Mettaton arrived with Napstablook and Alphys about a half hour before the dinner was to start. He'd never been to Frisk's house before, and he took in the quaint stone house, the beds of flowers of all colors in the front yard, and the glossy red convertible Chrysler in the driveway. "Is that Toriel's car?" he asked aloud.

Alphys didn't even glance at it. "Nah, that's Papyrus's. He's one of Frisk's friends and neighbors. You might know his brother Sans, actually, he used to wander around Hotland a lot when we were all still underground."

Sans. The name did ring a bell, but Mettaton couldn't quite recall where he'd heard it before. Well, no matter. They had people to meet and a dinner to eat.

Mettaton got out of the car only to fall back in. That small speeding blur from yesterday was back, and this time, they'd run straight to him! _"Oof!_ Hello, Frisk. Do be careful running at me like that, darling, or you might hurt yourself," he laughed, ruffling their hair.

"Hey, don't we get hugs?" Alphys and Napstablook had gotten out and were waiting expectantly. Frisk let go of Mettaton and threw themselves at the pair. Mettaton got back up and went to the other side of the car to get his fruit salad, pausing a moment to catch a sniff of the delicious vanilla sauce.

"Hey, Metal Ton."

Mettaton stiffened at the nasally voice. _Flowey._ How could he have forgotten that Frisk's highly unusual, extraordinarily temperamental, and immensely secretive best friend and brother was going to be here?

"Hello, Flowey," he replied evenly, turning to face the golden flower. "How have you been?"

Flowey ignored all pleasantries. "Nice of you to actually show up today. I told Frisk there's no way you were gonna keep that promise. Guess I was wrong," he snarked at the robot.

Mettaton could usually maintain his composure in the face of criticism, but he felt so worn down lately, and Flowey had a very blunt and effective way of getting to him. "Right. Well," he said, trying not to grit his teeth, "I had the time. And I'm not going to spend that time talking to children."

"Uh, you're literally here because a child invited you, dummy," Flowey smirked.

Mettaton slammed the car door hard and walked off with his salad, anger smoldering in his chest. Flowey's self-importance, intelligence, and childish annoyingness were all somehow the perfect combination, the perfect blow to Mettaton's barriers against his insecurities.

Fortunately, Frisk was immediately at his side to escort him to the backyard, and he no longer had to think about it. He only had to watch Frisk's signing hands as they happily chattered about what they had done that day and how glad they were that he was here, and that they were excited for him to meet all their friends! _How sweet,_ he thought, but before he could do or say anything, he stopped short.

Mettaton took in the gorgeous sight as Frisk opened the back gate. A clean cobblestone wall surrounded the property. Soft green grass waved over most of the ground. A large, gated, in-ground pool sparkled in the sunlight. A neat little brown shed was erected in a corner. A little playground and sandbox stood a short distance in front of that. The lawn was dotted with trees and flowers. A full line of trees behind the wall at the very back of the property shielded whatever was behind it from Mettaton's vision, but he could see another little gate, and beyond that, he could have sworn he could hear the ocean.

"Mettaton! Do come up here and say hello!"

Mettaton turned quickly, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Asgore Dreemurr standing on an expansive deck at the back of the house, along with Undyne and some fire monster he didn't recognize. He surprised everyone—including himself—when he bounded up the steps, tossed his salad down on the table, and threw himself into the big, furry embrace of Asgore.

The former king's laugh sounded from deep within his chest. "It has been such a long time, hasn't it? I do rather miss the teas and talks we used to have…"

Mettaton wouldn't admit it in front of anyone else, but he missed them too. Ever since Alphys had introduced him as her invention in order to become the Royal Scientist, he and Asgore had hit it off, and Asgore had eventually become like the loving, supportive father Mettaton had never had. Even once the king had found out about his and Alphys's falsehood, they had wanted to stay close, but Mettaton's constant heavy workload had caused him to drift away, and now he was deeply regretting it.

He realized he was still hugging Asgore. He pulled away, a little red-faced; everyone was staring at them, a little shocked to know that Mettaton knew Asgore so well. "Yes, well, work, it keeps me busy, you know? And tired. I don't get to see anyone a lot," he said nonchalantly, tossing his hair a bit.

Asgore was concerned. "Perhaps you should consider taking on less work. It won't do you any good to exhaust yourself so thoroughly. You could become very ill."

"No, no, I'm fine, really!" Mettaton protested hastily. "I'm not exhausted at all. Or at least I'm not usually. That whole big trip was probably a little much, but I'll be back to normal soon."

Off at Asgore's side, Undyne made a "hmph" noise. Mettaton made eye contact with her and could feel his insides start to wilt. The few times he'd met her, she'd never looked happy to see him, but today she looked downright angry. Scary. He had the feeling that being alone with her at any point in time today would be bad news for him.

He tore his eyes away, hoping no one could feel the anxiety and slight confusion radiating off him. "So!" He gave the group his customary bright white smile. "How are the rest of you doing? I don't think I've met you, sir?" he directed at the unknown fire monster.

The monster seemed to smile back and signed, _Grillby. Nice to meet you._

"Grillby ran a restaurant and bar down in the Underground, and then he moved it up here along with the rest of us," Alphys explained, coming up behind Mettaton with Napstablook. "It's actually got some pretty good food. Sans goes there all the time."

"Oh, please. We all know Sans stopped going there for the food a long time ago," Undyne snorted. "He only wants the flame man now."

Everyone chuckled as Grillby flared brighter, cheeks almost burning blue in embarrassment. Mettaton caught Undyne's eye again, and her smile immediately dropped. What was up with her today? He'd only just got here. He hadn't even _done_ anything.

Frisk, bored with the adult talk, decided to go inside and see if someone would play with them. Shutting the back door, they saw Papyrus hovering by Toriel and Lulu, who were talking together in front of the stove. Silently Frisk crept up behind the unsuspecting skeleton and tapped him hard on the spine, then ran away giggling. Papyrus spun around comically.

"Hey! What was that for, you villain?" he cried, pointing dramatically at the child.

Frisk's grin grew. _You're it!_

Papyrus's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I'm _it,_ am I? Well, not for long!" he challenged. "I, the Great Papyrus, shall catch you! And then _you_ will be _it!_ Nyeh heh heh!"

Frisk squealed and ran around the table to avoid him. They both scrambled around the kitchen until Frisk was stuck on one side of the table and Papyrus was on the other, blocking the back door and Frisk's nearest escape route. Sneakily, the child glanced to their left and feinted, causing Papyrus to rush forward on that side. But Frisk ran to the right, heading straight for the back door as Papyrus nearly tripped over a chair in his attempt to get back to them. "That was very clever, human!" he praised them, using his favorite old nickname. "But I'll get you yet!"

Mettaton was still out on the deck. "You know, I think I should probably go inside and tell Toriel I'm here," he said to the others, trying to ignore Undyne's stare. "I'll be back out in a minute."

His timing was perfect. Mettaton opened the back door just as Frisk reached it, and without hesitating they pushed past him to freedom. The robot hopped aside, startled. Then he shook his head slightly and stepped in the doorway.

This time, his timing was not perfect. Papyrus slammed into him full force, knocking them both on the ground in a heap. It took a few seconds for both of them to get their bearings. Mettaton found himself staring into the eye sockets of a dazed-looking skeleton, and Papyrus found himself lying on top of the celebrity he'd only met in his dreams.

"Oh my—" He couldn't even fully formulate the sentence. He struggled back to his feet, thoughtlessly holding out a hand for Mettaton to pull himself up with. "Oh my—" As soon as the robot was standing at his full height, Papyrus made a retching sound and stumbled back inside the house.

For a minute, Mettaton could only stare. Then he finally pointed vaguely after the skeleton. "Is he, uh. Is he going to be okay?"

Alphys clasped her hands together in front of her mouth. "Um… I-I think so? That was Papyrus. He's, uh, a little eccentric. And excitable. And he's kind of your biggest fan."

 _That_ was Papyrus? The owner of that sleek, sporty, not-quite-as-fancy-as-his-own-but-still-very-nice-looking car out front was a weird fan of his? That was the last thing Mettaton expected to hear. "Eccentric, huh."

"Yeah, he wears funky clothes and hangs with kids a lot, he's obsessed with puzzles, _and_ he's a total neat freak," Undyne blurted out, almost seeming excited to talk about him. Then she sobered, recalling who she was talking to. "You stay away from him. I don't want you… _corrupting_ him and making him like you."

Mettaton bristled. What was so bad about being like him? "I'll do what I want, thank you very much."

"Alright, that's enough!" Alphys interrupted. "Undyne, stop antagonizing Mettaton. Mettaton, go inside and say hi to Toriel already if that's what you want to do. And take your food in there too."

"Fine." Mettaton picked up his salad dish and strode haughtily into the house, nose in the air as he passed Undyne.

In a sitting room at the front of the house, Papyrus was pacing and panicking in front of Sans. _"Mettaton,_ Sans!" he cried despairingly. "Mettaton! In Frisk's house! In _our_ neighborhood! Who _ever_ would have expected this?!"

"I mean, Frisk did invite him, and he said he would, so uh. I guess I expected it," Sans replied, completely calm.

"WHAT?! You _knew_ he was coming? How could you know?! Why wouldn't you tell me?!" Papyrus demanded, rounding on his brother and towering over him.

Sans leaned his head against the back of the couch he was sitting on to make eye contact. "I knew you'd get like this. You practically had an aneurysm when you heard Mettaton was going to be living just across town from us."

"That's ridiculous, Sans, we can't have aneurysms. We don't have brains. But still! I can't even look at you right now!" Papyrus pulled back and went to the other side of the room to bang his head against the wall. "I can't believe this, you _knew_ Mettaton was coming and you didn't tell me! I could have prepared myself, I could have worn my best clothes and shined my skull and practiced what I would say! Instead I've been running around like a frenzied, stupid child—Sans, I—I freaking ran into him! Literally! Just knocked him over and I was lying on top of him—" The event seemed to run on a loop in Papyrus's mind in horrifying detail.

"Okay, bro, first of all, stop screaming, everyone in the house can hear you." Sans got up to pull Papyrus away from the wall. "Which isn't good considering Mettaton is in the next room trying to talk to Toriel."

" _WHAT!"_ Papyrus shrieked, then clapped his hands over his mouth in horror at his own outburst. He peeked out the doorway and caught sight of Mettaton down the hall animatedly chattering away at Toriel. For a split second, their eyes locked, and Papyrus pulled back so fast he hit his skull on the wall again and slid to the floor. "Oh my god, he _looked_ at me…"

Frisk wandered into the room looking for Papyrus, wondering why he'd never come outside to chase them. They were alarmed to see him in such a panicked state and rushed to hug him, looking to Sans for an explanation.

Sans scratched his skull. "I guess Papyrus ran into Mettaton—like, _literally_ ran into him and Pap fell on him. He's, uh, not handling it too well…"

"This is the worst day of my entire life!" Papyrus cried. "I've never been so embarrassed…" He started biting his fingers hard through his glove.

"Hey, hey, don't do that!" Sans swiftly pushed Frisk back and pulled away Papyrus's hand from his mouth. "You practically bit 'em all off at the knuckle the last time you did that, you're gonna hurt yourself again," he murmured, hoping Frisk couldn't hear.

Papyrus resumed his head-banging. "What do I do?"

"Uh… go apologize? That's really the best idea I've got, dude."

"Go—go talk to him?! Right after that?!" Papyrus looked at Sans incredulously, then switched to Frisk. "He can't be serious!"

Frisk shrugged. _Sounds good idea. Nothing else to do._

"Come on, Pap, Frisk and I'll stand next to you while you do it, how's that?" Sans suggested, holding out a hand to pull his brother up from the floor.

Frisk held out their hand too, and slowly Papyrus reached out to pull himself up. For a second he stood, breathing deeply. Then he drew himself to his full height. "Well, let's get this over with!"

"That's the spirit, bro."

Papyrus strode forward into the hall with his head held high, trying not to appear nervous.

Mettaton was about to go back outside when Papyrus approached him, followed by Frisk and a shorter, chubbier skeleton in a blue jacket.

Papyrus cleared his throat uncertainly. How was he supposed to address a celebrity? "M-Mettaton, sir… I, ah, wanted to ap-apologize for—uh, falling on you so unceremoniously, and my, ah, rather poor behavior afterwards—running away, I-I mean." He shuffled his feet. "I—I understand if you can't forgive me..."

"Oh, please, darling, forgive you? For what?" Mettaton laughed glamorously. "A little accident? I assure you, people have done far worse to me." _Far, far worse,_ his mind added against his will. "I'm not hurt, and I hope you aren't either."

"Oh, oh no, I'm quite alright," sighed Papyrus, relieved that his apology had been taken so well, even if it was just a brush-off. "Th-thank you, sir. Ah, since we didn't have any proper introductions—my name is Papyrus, and… I'm a very big fan of yours. I've watched all your shows and movies multiple times, and listened to all your music, and I have a lot of merchandise—" Now he was babbling. He straightened and stuck out his hand. "It's… it's quite an honor to meet you, sir."

Mettaton took his hand gallantly. "And it's a pleasure to meet such a dedicated fan. But I won't have any of this 'sir' business. We're all equals under Frisk's roof. Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine." He spied Undyne glowering at him through the window over the sink. "Well, _almost_ any friend."

Papyrus couldn't help but stare at his glove after Mettaton let go. "Wowie… thank you again, si—M-Mettaton!" He started to move off slowly.

Mettaton switched his attention to the other skeleton. "You must be Sans."

Sans spread his hands and inclined his head slightly. "The one and only. Or at least I hope there're no other me's running around."

The robot chuckled. "Say, I've seen you somewhere before…" He bit his lip as he tried to recall, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, I know! You did some stand-up comedy at my resort while we were still underground."

"He did _WHAT?!"_ Papyrus spun around so fast he almost fell over. "You did _what?"_

"Is—is there something wrong with stand-up comedy?" Mettaton was confused and startled by Papyrus's sudden outburst.

"Are you saying—is he saying you went to his hotel, stood up there, and told _puns_ for an entire show?!" Papyrus glared into his brother's eyes.

Sans visibly braced himself, knowing what was coming. "…Yeah."

"Oh my god." Papyrus closed his eyes and leaned back.

"Pap, don't—"

"Oh my god, I can't _believe_ you!" Papyrus turned back around, stomping his feet and flapping his hands a little. "You met _Mettaton_ and you told _puns_ to him and his distinguished guests and you didn't even _tell_ me!"

"I mean, I did more than puns. I told funny stories an' stuff," Sans said. "Some of them involved you."

Papyrus didn't even want to know what that meant. "I can't even look at you right now. I have to go outside for some air," he griped, heading for the backyard.

After he'd gone, Sans glanced sheepishly at Mettaton. "Sorry about that," he grimaced. "My brother's a little… high-strung. But he's also the coolest guy I've ever met," he added, his face brightening. "Keep hanging around and you'll see what I mean."

 _Coolest. Right._ But Mettaton didn't voice his thoughts. While he found Papyrus's behavior odd and childish, he knew that first impressions didn't always show what a person was really like, and that apology had seemed genuine and kind of sweet. He looked to Frisk for confirmation; they nodded in agreement with Sans's statement.

"Well, I don't know how often I'm going to be able to do this. I work every day of the week," Mettaton replied airily. "But when I do come around, I hope I will see what you mean." He put his hands on his hips and stretched back.

Something didn't feel right in his pockets.

He searched them frantically as Sans and Frisk looked on curiously. "You alright there, Mettaton?" Sans queried.

"My car keys! They're not in here, I could have sworn I—oh no," Mettaton realized. "I must have left them in the ignition when that plant buddy of yours distracted me," he said, giving Frisk a somewhat sour look at his own mention of Flowey. "God, I hope someone hasn't taken it…"

Without waiting for Sans or Frisk, Mettaton ran out front. Fortunately, his hot pink car still sat at the end of the driveway, and he was able to retrieve his keys without a hitch. He locked up the car and leaned on the hood for a minute, relieved it hadn't been stolen.

Then he got up to go back into the house, only to find himself staring into the furious eyes of Undyne.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: Things are starting to get heated up around here. Originally you were gonna get to see what Undyne's issue with Mettaton is, but with everything I wanted to happen during this whole dinner thing, it just would have made the chapter really long, so I cut it off here.

I hope you enjoyed Pap and Metta finally meeting! A friend of mine got really mad at Metta for being so doubtful of Pap's coolness, but don't worry, he'll come around in time.

Please leave reviews if you have anything to say!

chapter title - lyrics from Funky at Heart (Studio Killers)  
chapter summary - lyrics from Sweetie (Carly Rae Jepsen)


	5. The Show

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 5 – Dinner After the Show_

Undyne had caught Mettaton alone.

But if she thought she was going to intimidate him anymore, she was wrong. Now Mettaton was pissed off too. "Care to explain what you're up in my face for?" he said coolly, not betraying a single emotion.

"Yeah. Where the hell were you last week?" Undyne didn't blink.

"The United States. Specifically Nashville, Austin, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. But you already knew that." Mettaton crossed his arms.

Undyne crossed hers too. "Don't give me that crap, you know damn well what I meant," she snapped. "What was _so_ important about that stupid tour that you couldn't cut it a few days short and get back here in time to be with all the monsters when we were celebrating our freedom?"

Mettaton attempted to pass by her. "That's none of your business."

She grabbed his arm and yanked him back in front of her. "It is my business when you hurt Frisk," she hissed through clenched teeth.

He tore his arm out of her grasp. "I could press assault charges for that," he threatened.

"Stop being such a drama queen and answer my goddamn question."

"I just—couldn't make it, okay?" Mettaton knew it was an extremely poor response, but the truth was just too hard to explain. "I wanted to be here, I really did, but I—all my fans were waiting to see me in person, I couldn't let them down—"

"So you'd rather let down Frisk, the kid who pretty much considers you _family,_ than a bunch of strangers who are in love with some idealized version of you?" Undyne was clearly disgusted. "I can't fucking believe you. Frisk _cried_ when you said you weren't coming,Mettaton. For at least two days, maybe even longer. Doesn't that mean _anything_ to you?"

"Don't—don't you dare question how much I care about Frisk." Mettaton was almost breathless with rage. "I said I was sorry! And I meant it! And I did call, and they sounded fine! How do I know you're not making things up just to make me feel bad?"

"You know I'm not." Undyne stepped back and threw up her hands. "Honestly, I don't know why I'm so upset over this, I should've known it would happen. You have a track record of treating your family and friends like shit, why should this time around be any different?" She started walking back toward the house.

"You—you—!" spluttered Mettaton. "Get back here! How dare you—Blooky and Alphys and I are doing just fine! Not that that's any of your concern anyway!"

"Oh, Napstablook isn't any of my concern, are they?" Undyne spun around. "It isn't like you left them behind for years with literally _no_ other family around, it isn't like _I_ had to step in and be their friend and get them back up on their feet and make sure they could still function after being abandoned by the _one_ person who was actually able to support them, huh?"

Mettaton tried to speak, but Undyne kept going, stalking back toward him.

"And Alphys—she might be your _friend,_ but she's my fucking _girlfriend,_ and you bet your ass her emotional state is my concern." She was right in front of him again. "You know, it's so funny you mention you're all doing _just fine._ It was just yesterday afternoon I got a call from her, crying because apparently you just got back and you're already fighting! Wow, yeah, you guys sound like you're doing _just fine!"_

"Alphys—called you—?" Mettaton shook his head. "I don't care! Alphys and I can work our differences out ourselves!"

Undyne dug her finger in his chest. "I swear to every god there is, if you hurt her again—"

Mettaton shoved her arm away. "I don't have to listen to this. Get out of my way, I'm going back inside—"

"You don't deserve to be in there with everyone else!" Undyne yelled in his face.

"I don't deserve to stand here and be insulted by the likes of you!" Mettaton clenched his fists. "So help me, Undyne, I will _fight_ you if I have to!"

Undyne immediately summoned a blue spear that hummed with electricity. "You wanna go, bolts-for-brains? Then let's fucking go!"

Their voices had risen so loud that the last bits of their exchange could be heard in the backyard. Alphys blanched. "Oh my god, th-th-they're gonna murder each other!" She bounded down the steps of the deck, followed very closely by Papyrus and Napstablook.

Mettaton had just called up his little box clones when Alphys came screaming around the corner, forcing herself in between him and Undyne. "STOP! Stop, oh my god, what the _fuck_ are you two doing?!"

Papyrus caught Undyne by surprise, wrapping his arms around her chest and trapping her arms by her sides. She dropped the spear, which disappeared.

Mettaton still did not let down his guard.

"Mettaton, put those away, you're making a scene!" Alphys yelled. Reluctantly, the robot called off the box clones.

"Is everything alright out here?" Toriel came out the front door along with Lulu, Frisk, and Sans. Asgore and Grillby came around the side of the house from the back, and Flowey popped up in a flower bed behind Alphys. All of them seemed very worried, except for Flowey, who had been watching the argument from afar and was thrilled to be able to see the drama up close.

"Everything's—everything's—" Alphys panted and glanced at her two best friends in disbelief. "Really, what the hell is the matter with you two? Can't you get along for—"

"This isn't my fault, Undyne was the one harassing me about why I couldn't be here last week!" Mettaton cried hotly.

Undyne shook Papyrus off roughly. "And I wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't been a self-absorbed asshole and had just come home to be with your goddamn family!"

"Undyne, stop!" Alphys raised her hands. "Just—just stop. That's—that's a legitimate question, but now is _not_ the time to be discussing that."

Mettaton smiled triumphantly.

Alphys turned on him. "Don't give her that look, she has a point. W-we have a lot we need to talk about when we get home," she warned him. "And I mean a lot."

"Well, I—"

"Undyne, why would you attack Mettaton?" Papyrus interjected, deeply concerned and looking almost scared.

" _He_ was the one who wanted to fight _me,"_ she snarled, glaring at the robot nastily. "Don't worry about him, Papyrus. Stay away from him, he's just a stupid, selfish prick. You're better off idolizing someone who doesn't get off on hurting the people who care about him."

Mettaton bared his teeth. "I am going to _rip_ you—"

"Oh my god, STOP!" Alphys buried her face in her hands. "This is supposed to be a nice dinner and you both are ruining everything!" she sobbed, pushing past the others to go into the house. Toriel quietly went up after her.

The weight of their argument seemed to hit Undyne and Mettaton at the same time. Both glanced at each other and leapt forward to catch up to Alphys, but were stopped by a very upset Frisk.

"Oh, Frisk, sweetie, we weren't really going to fight!" Mettaton tried to console them.

"I was gonna fight," Undyne mumbled.

Frisk wasn't fooled. They shook their head. _Apologize._

"We were just going in to—"

Frisk cut Mettaton off by pointing to him and Undyne. _Apologize._

Undyne and Mettaton both made noises of disgust, but both knew they weren't going to get past Frisk without apologizing to each other, and the longer they stayed out here with the others staring about uncertainly, the more awkward it was going to get.

"Alright, fine. Mettaton, I am deeply, truly sorry for telling the truth—"

Frisk swatted at Undyne.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry for yelling at you and threatening to fight. Happy now?"

"No, but I suppose I'll have to accept it," drawled Mettaton. "And _I'm_ sorry for rising to your bait and defending myself from such horrid lies."

Frisk crossed their arms.

Mettaton sighed. "Alright, I guess I'll try that again. I'm sorry for yelling and threatening to fight you back. How's that?"

Without acknowledging either of them, Frisk turned their back and marched into the house.

Not sure what to say, Sans, Grillby, and Lulu slowly went to the backyard. Flowey disappeared into the ground, bored now that the commotion was over.

Mettaton's stomach dropped as his eyes met Asgore's. The boss monster's face was clouded with disappointment and concern as he looked from the robot to the fish monster, completely at a loss for words or advice. For a moment it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but instead he closed his mouth and followed the others.

That left only Papyrus and Napstablook standing with Mettaton and Undyne. Both were reluctant to leave in case their absence caused another stir.

"Pap, we're fine, dude." Undyne rubbed her temples. "Don't worry about us, we're just gonna…"

Papyrus took a few steps back, meeting Mettaton's eyes before turning and running after his brother.

Mettaton turned to Napstablook. "I'll meet you out back. I just need to… say sorry to Alphys first."

Napstablook brushed against Mettaton's arm comfortingly and disappeared.

Undyne and Mettaton were left standing alone as they had been when the argument had first broken out. They were too embarrassed to look at each other.

"…welp," Undyne finally said. "Guess we'd better go do the right thing, then…"

Mettaton only nodded.

Silently, the two monsters trudged into the house to apologize to Alphys.

Meanwhile, Papyrus caught up with his brother. "Sans, do you think Undyne meant what she said about Mettaton?"

Sans grimaced and didn't answer until they reached the deck stairs. After making sure everyone else was too preoccupied to listen in, he leaned on the railing and turned to his brother, but avoided his gaze. "I really don't know, Pap. I mean, like I said earlier, I've performed in front of him before, I've seen what he's like up close. I know Undyne can be pretty hyperbolic about stuff, especially considering how much she dislikes him, but she's not wrong about him being…" He searched for the right words. "Well, he's definitely not stupid, but self-obsessed? Absolutely." He finally met Papyrus's eyes. "It's one thing to watch him act onstage and stuff—it's another to be around him in this kind of setting. I think for now I'd be more comfortable if you'd take Undyne's advice and avoid him." He grinned a little and playfully punched his brother's arm in an attempt to ease tension. "I don't want my little brother getting too obsessed with himself, now."

"What need do I have for self-obsession? I already know how great I am," scoffed Papyrus. But inside, his confidence had taken a blow. _Sans_ might be more comfortable, but what about his own comfort? He wouldn't feel better unless he knew Undyne and Mettaton had really made up, but how was he supposed to ensure that if he was avoiding Mettaton? And why didn't his brother ever seem to consider what _he_ wanted in any situation?

But he pushed aside those thoughts and assured Sans that yes, he'd try to stay away from Mettaton for now. Sans probably had a point, and Papyrus supposed that he was a bit slow and needed instruction. Why else would people tell him to do things as if he were a child and not an adult with a working brain?

Just then, Toriel rang the dinner bell and called everyone out to the table. As he came up the stairs, Papyrus noticed a small, white ghost hovering fearfully in the corner, as if they were afraid to sit with everyone else. He shuddered—he'd always thought ghosts were rather spooky—but he also felt deeply sympathetic. No one deserved to feel like they didn't belong here! Papyrus decided to make sure they had a good seat and went right over to them.

At that moment, Alphys came through the back door, dry-eyed, and wordlessly took a seat in the middle of the bench at the table. Undyne and Mettaton followed her, both looking like they felt better, but still with an air of apprehension around them. Undyne slowly slid into the spot on Alphys's right.

Mettaton searched for Napstablook, knowing how lost and anxious they'd feel without him, and saw that Papyrus the skeleton had already gotten to them. "Excuse me, little ghost, I believe I've found an excellent place for you to sit!" he said in a very kind voice, much quieter than his normal tones. "If you'd come with me—"

"O-oh…... alright." Napstablook still seemed very uncertain, but glad that someone was looking after them.

Papyrus didn't notice Mettaton watching them curiously as he led the ghost to the far corner of the table on the other side of Alphys. "There!" the skeleton cried. "It's a corner seat, so you can get up easily, and it's right in front of the door, so you can go right inside if you have a need."

Tears started streaming down Napstablook's face.

"Oh, oh no!" Papyrus started to panic, not sure what he'd done wrong. He also wasn't sure how to deal with ghost tears, as he knew full well they were pure acid. "Is that not what you wanted? Should I take you somewhere else?"

"Oh…... no, I'm crying because I'm happy," Napstablook sniffed. "Thank you for being so nice to me…."

"Don't worry, I've got them," said Mettaton briskly as he swooped in beside his cousin, pulling an acid-proof handkerchief out of his pocket. "I've always got one of these on me." He dabbed at Napstablook's face carefully until all traces of the tears were gone.

The little ghost was Mettaton's cousin! How could Papyrus have forgotten? He almost smiled, but then he remembered what Sans had said, so instead he just mumbled something like "Oh, right, of course," and shuffled away.

Mettaton pursed his lips. Papyrus must have taken Undyne's words to heart and was staying away. For some reason, even though he should have been upset, Mettaton couldn't really feel anything at the seeming loss of such a great fan, except perhaps a very slight disappointment.

What intrigued him was the way Papyrus had treated his cousin. Anyone who was kind toward Napstablook rose in Mettaton's favor, and this time was no different. He would remember that for a long time.

Everyone else was taking their seat—Toriel at the head of the table and Asgore at the other end, since they were so big. Frisk right across from Undyne, plopping Flowey's pot next to them in front of Alphys. Lulu on the end of the bench next to Toriel. Sans on the other side of Flowey with Grillby next to him on the end. Mettaton between Napstablook and Alphys. Finally Papyrus took his place next to Undyne and Toriel, Toriel said grace, and the meal began.

In many ways it was like a grand feast. The whole group filed into the kitchen and served themselves as if they were at a buffet table. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they wanted except for Mettaton; there was so much scrumptious-looking food—hot pork roast, buttery garlic mashed potatoes, homemade macaroni and cheese, spicy baked beans, seasoned rice pilaf, and so much more. He ended up taking a little of everything he passed by.

He noticed that nearly everyone seemed to be passing over a large bowl of spaghetti noodles and a Crock-Pot—that must be tomato sauce. He leaned down to Alphys, who was in front of him, and asked what that was all about.

Alphys struggled to keep a straight face. "That's Papyrus's stuff," she said under her breath. "He's, uh… n-not exactly… well, let's just say it took a long time for any of his cooking to actually be edible."

"Has anyone _told_ him he's not very good?" Mettaton wondered. "Or actually tried to teach him how to do it right?"

Alphys shook her head. "He's pretty sensitive, so pretty much everyone just ignores his stuff or pretends to eat it and hopes he doesn't notice. I did hear that Sans finally made him take some real cooking lessons at the community center recently, though. Oh, speaking of…" She trailed off and watched Sans stop in front of the spaghetti. Trying not to grimace, he took a small scoop of noodles and sauce. "Sans does his best to eat Pap's food. He really takes one for the team, letting the rest of us know if it's relatively safe to eat or not…"

Something about the way Alphys was talking about all this didn't sit right with Mettaton, but he didn't know what it was. One way or another, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Papyrus and his fairly neglected-looking spaghetti, so he took some, figuring he'd probably tasted something worse at some point in his life.

At the table, the other food was being enjoyed immensely by all but one.

"Napstablook, you haven't touched your plate. Is something the matter?" Asgore asked the ghost.

They blinked, trying not to let any tears fall. "Oh… I just can't eat physical food, is all… but I can enjoy looking at it on the plate…..."

"Oh, come on now, Blooky. Don't worry, I'll get it for you." Mettaton roughly stabbed all of Napstablook's food with his fork as everyone else watched in confusion. Once Mettaton had finished, Napstablook started happily eating something invisible, and they realized—they'd just seen the creation of ghost food.

Now that they could all eat, everyone went back for seconds and some even wanted thirds. Frisk seemed to have forgiven Mettaton and Undyne for their earlier argument, as they happily passed Undyne the pepper when she asked for it and they asked Mettaton if he had anything special going on at work.

Papyrus kept stealing glances at Mettaton down the bench. He'd been told to stay away, but that didn't mean he couldn't _look_ at him, right? This was _the_ Mettaton sitting at the same table as him, after all!

He decided he wanted another serving of beans and rice. Once he'd disappeared inside, everyone automatically looked to Sans. Pausing with a forkful of meat halfway to his mouth, he sighed and picked up some spaghetti instead, hesitating before taking a test bite.

His eyes widened as he swallowed. "Holy shit."

Toriel cleared her throat. "What, uh, what seems to be the problem this time, Sans?"

"There _is_ no problem!" Sans started to laugh. "I knew those cooking lessons would pay off. This is actually edible."

Mettaton quickly took a bite of his own spaghetti. "This is _better_ than edible," he said after swallowing. "It's nothing special, but it is quite nice."

The others made a noise of surprise just as Papyrus came back out. "What are you all doing?" He squinted suspiciously. "Not talking with your mouths full, I hope?"

Everyone laughed, and the conversation turned to things like the weather, Frisk's schoolwork, that new movie that was on TV last night, and how Mettaton's world tour had gone. For once, Mettaton didn't want to talk about himself, preferring to quietly enjoy this delicious homecooked meal.

Shortly thereafter, nearly all the food—including Papyrus's spaghetti—had disappeared. That was when Toriel brought out three full-size butterscotch-cinnamon pies, and everyone groaned; they'd all left barely enough room for the dessert. But between them all, they managed to finish off a whole pie and a half.

"That's strange. There were two more of us than usual, I thought for sure we could finish off at least two of these pies and have some left over for Frisk to take for a school lunch," Toriel mused. "Then again, two more guests means we had even more dinner food." She looked to Mettaton, Napstablook, and Alphys. "Maybe you three would like to take home this whole pie, since you've hardly had any?"

"Yeah, sure, we can do that. Th-thanks, Toriel," Alphys responded, turning slightly red.

All of the monsters plus Frisk and Flowey helped to clear off the table and clean up their messes in the kitchen. Papyrus knew exactly how to load plates and glasses in the dishwasher, and he easily directed everyone else where to put the dishes so Toriel could rinse them off first. Once the chores were done, they went to relax and chat in the living room before saying goodbye for the night.

Toriel smiled as Frisk hugged Mettaton and Napstablook. "Thank you both so much for coming, it really was a pleasure," she said warmly. "And that salad was so refreshing, Mettaton. A nice little break in the middle of all that hot food. I do applaud that choice."

"I'll be honest, I was just looking for something relatively quick that I could make after work. But I'm glad it ended up working out so well!" Mettaton laughed as he stood, letting go of Frisk. "I do look forward to coming again."

"Coming again?" Toriel looked surprised.

"Yes—well, that is, if I'm invited again…"

"No, no, of course!" Now she sounded delighted. "Of course you're always welcome here. I just didn't know if you would, since you said you were so busy when we invited you last time."

"I can make room in my schedule, it's easy when you've got as much money and fame as I do."

"Yes, of course." Toriel tried to ignore the slight haughtiness in his voice. "But do not put your career in jeopardy either, alright?"

"I assure you, very few things could really put my career in such a position, darling," said Mettaton lightly as he hugged Frisk one more time. "I'm too much of a treasure for anyone to want to get rid of me. Well, I suppose we'd best be going. Goodbye, Frisk. And do call when you're planning another get-together!"

Mettaton wanted to say goodbye to Asgore before he left, but wasn't sure if it would be awkward, considering his reaction to the fight with Undyne. His fears were all dispelled when the boss monster pulled Mettaton into a hug of his own accord as the robot passed through the front door.

"It was quite lovely to see you again, Mettaton," Asgore said. "You really ought to come over for tea sometime! I only work three days of the week, and never on weekends."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," Mettaton replied absently. God, how he missed these hugs. He felt like he could stand there forever, safe and warm.

But he couldn't.

He broke away from Asgore rather sadly, giving him one last wave as he, Napstablook, and Alphys exited the house.

Outside, Mettaton caught sight of Papyrus climbing into his car. "Oh, just one second, Alphys. I need to talk to someone—Papyrus! Hold on!"

Papyrus blinked as the robot stopped right in front of his door. "Oh, uh, Mettaton. Can—can I do something for you?" he asked, gripping the wheel to stop his fingers from shaking.

"I just wanted to thank you for helping Blooky earlier. They're so shy, you know. And so eternally convinced they're doing everything wrong. It's really a great boost to their self-esteem when people are kind. And I won't forget it." Mettaton winked, and Papyrus turned slightly blue in the face.

"Uh—oh, it was no problem at all! They deserved to have a place in our family as much as the rest of us," the skeleton practically shouted, his voice nearly a full octave higher than normal. "Well, I'd better get my brother home before he falls asleep again. G-goodbye, Mettaton!"

"Bye, beautiful." Mettaton waved with his fingers and sashayed away to his own car.

Sans climbed in next to Papyrus. "What was that about?"

"Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all. I just helped that little ghost earlier, I guess that's Mettaton's cousin, he came over and thanked me, and I said it was no problem and we should go home." Papyrus started the car and drummed his fingers on the wheel before backing out of the driveway. "You know, Sans, I really think you're wrong about him. Mettaton seemed quite sincere when he thanked me for helping. And he was very nice when I apologized to him earlier. I don't think he should have any negative effects on me at all."

Sans raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Do whatever you want, bro. I just said what I thought earlier. You don't have to listen."

Papyrus felt a little guilty over rejecting Sans' advice, but he didn't back down. Sure, Mettaton had sounded pretty nasty when he'd been fighting, but so had Undyne, and Papyrus knew Undyne was a good person at heart, so why couldn't Mettaton be, too? And besides, bad people didn't become famous, with lots of money and adoring fans. Bad people became _infamous,_ with people hunting them down and putting them in prison. That obviously wasn't Mettaton.

 _No, Mettaton is a good person,_ Papyrus decided as he pulled into his garage. _Probably._

Meanwhile, things had been rather quiet as Mettaton drove home with his cousin and Alphys.

Finally, Alphys asked, "So… d-did you like that? The dinner, I mean…"

"I thought it was very good," Napstablook said simply. "I wish I'd had room for pie…..."

"Yes, other than that… _unpleasantness_ earlier, that was quite lovely. And I told Toriel I want to come again, if she'll accept me," he added, looking at her pointedly as if to say _see, I do care about spending time with family._

"Oh! Well, that's great, then. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Alphys swallowed.

God, why were things so awkward between them now?

"Listen, Mettaton, I think we should—"

"I'm tired, Alphys, can we do this later?" Mettaton cut her off. "I'd really love to just change and relax and watch a movie or something. You can pick if you want."

"O-oh. Yeah, alright. That sounds good." Alphys sounded almost relieved, like she didn't really want to have the talk either.

Mettaton mulled over the events of the late afternoon and evening as he continued driving. It had been an odd feeling, being among everyone else, but not as a celebrity—just as a normal person. Talking with friends, new and old; fighting with Undyne (as unpleasant as that had been); eating hearty food; and being hugged by Frisk, and Asgore…

It was like being… _home._ Really and truly _home._

He hadn't felt like that in quite a long time.

And he missed it.

And he desperately wanted to feel it again.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: hello and welcome to Terrible Chapter Names and Summaries with ButchPapyrus!

this took me a while to write. I wanted to ensure that the fight between Mettaton and Undyne progressed naturally, and I also wanted to portray it in a way that shows that both of them are both right and wrong. I know most (actually, probably all) of you are gonna end up rooting for Mettaton anyway, considering he's one of the protagonists. but I hope you recognize that Undyne does have some good points, and from her perspective it looks like Mettaton just didn't care enough to be around and is just making half-assed excuses. which he is, but not for the reason she thinks.

this poor robot has a lot of things on his mind he's never told anyone yet.

but hey, at least the rest of the evening went nicely! and that's what makes him want to return.

I'll be honest-I'm not entirely sure what all the next chapter will consist of. I want to follow up on one more thing regarding the dinner, but I don't know if it'll take up a whole chapter. If it doesn't, it may turn into some more exposition/worldbuilding that'll be important later, who knows.

And the chapters after that are a bit uncertain too. I have a lot of major events planned, it's stringing them together that's the difficult part, I guess. well, I suppose those are the troubles with being a writer.

the next thing I'm updating will be my new Underfell fic, so I guess I'll have some time to think on things, anyway.

so yeah. I didn't base the chapter name on any songs this time around, I'm kind of sad to break the streak but I don't listen to enough music to know of something good off the top of my head and I thought it might be hard to research, so I didn't bother and I just came up with the cheesiest damn thing. I'm so sorry.

anyway I hope you enjoy! I certainly enjoy writing it. leave comments if you feel like it, I definitely love the encouragement :)


	6. Pain

_**Trigger warnings: implied drug abuse/addiction.**_

 _Chapter 6 – Percocet for the Soul_

It had been at least an hour since they'd left Toriel's, but Papyrus was still giddy over almost everything that had happened.

He'd arrived for dinner, expecting things to proceed as normal. He'd brought his spaghetti (which was completely gone for once; those cooking lessons must have made his food absolutely spectacular). He'd played with Frisk. Then he'd run slap-bang into Mettaton, his favorite celebrity! The man of his dreams, even. Papyrus's heart pounded as he thought of him.

Mettaton had been so _nice_ about the whole thing, even though Papyrus could have damaged his look and probably did hurt his dignity. But then, Mettaton _was_ a star, how could Papyrus have expected him to be anything but calm and collected?

During dinner, he'd really thought he might throw up. _Mettaton_ had really been sitting just down the table from him, talking and laughing and eating with his family. His _family!_ Sometimes Papyrus forgot how well Frisk knew Mettaton. Did that mean the robot would be coming over more often? He tried not to get his hopes up.

There was only one thing about the day that still bothered him.

That whole fight with Undyne.

What could Mettaton have possibly done to make her so angry that she'd wanted to _fight_ him? Papyrus couldn't understand that kind of behavior at all; it'd take a lot for him to really throw a fit like that.

And Mettaton had been just as fiery back… it seemed very unlike a celebrity to act that way.

These must be very unusual circumstances, circumstances that might get in the way if Undyne and Mettaton didn't _really_ make up and move on.

Papyrus decided there was no better person to go instigate that making-up than himself.

Of course, it would be hard to do since he didn't have Mettaton's phone number. But he did have Undyne's, and hopefully if he convinced Undyne to call Mettaton and apologize, Mettaton would do the same.

Papyrus locked himself in his room and sat on the bed to call his best friend.

Undyne seemed tired when she picked up. "Hey, Pap. What's up?"

"Hello, Undyne. I was hoping to speak to you about what happened earlier this evening."

"Oh, geez." Undyne sounded like she was rubbing her face. "Papyrus, we're fine. We cleared that up—"

"You most certainly did not. Both of you gave the most bogus apologies I've ever heard, and I'm not having it. You need to give a _real_ apology."

"Are you kidding me?!" Undyne struggled not to yell. "You know what he did, Pap. Left Frisk crying for days. And he _told_ me it was because 'he couldn't let his fans down.' He literally cares more about his fame than the kid who loves him. And it's not the first time it's happened, either. I don't have to apologize for calling him out on it."

Papyrus swallowed and got up to pace around his room. "N-no, perhaps not," he agreed tentatively. "However… Undyne, are you quite certain that your predisposition to hate him isn't getting in the way? I—"

"I don't _hate_ him. I just think he's an entitled prick. Anybody with eyeballs can see it."

"Then why _doesn't_ anyone else see it?" Papyrus countered. "How did he sound when he told you he stayed for his fans?"

"What? Why does that matter?"

"Just tell me how he sounded."

Undyne sighed. "He was really… hesitant, I guess. Kinda like he didn't believe what he was telling me," she replied. "That's… really weird now that I think about it."

"See?" Papyrus was thrilled. "It's obvious he wasn't telling the truth! Which isn't good, of course, but he must have had a very good reason!"

"Yeah, I guess… I mean, I still don't think that's enough reason to assume he isn't a prick. But I guess there's a chance he wasn't trying to be an ass when he told Frisk he wasn't coming back."

"Yeah!" Papyrus flapped his free hand excitedly. "Now will you go apologize to him?"

"Alright, I guess. But only because it'll make you happy," Undyne promised. "And he'd better have the decency to apologize back."

"I'm sure he will! You know, this could be the perfect opportunity for you two to start becoming friends."

"Keep dreaming, Pap."

"Oh, I will!"

Papyrus couldn't help but dance around a little after he hung up. Undyne was on her way to making up with Mettaton, and if that happened, the next time Mettaton came over would be even better than the last.

Ω

Mettaton, Napstablook, and Alphys were relaxing in their living room for a bit before watching TV. Alphys was texting someone in the big armchair, Blooky was dozing on the couch next to Mettaton, and Mettaton felt himself dropping off when his cell phone rang. He picked it up, annoyed. "Don't know that number."

"It's probably Undyne," said Alphys.

"Why would it be Undyne? And how would you know, anyway?" demanded Mettaton suspiciously.

"She just asked me for your number," Alphys started to explain, turning red.

"What?! Why would you give it to her?! She's probably going to—"

"You didn't let me finish! She promised she wasn't going to yell or blame you for anything anymore," Alphys replied angrily. "But she probably _will_ yell if you don't answer. Just do it, Mettaton. Trust me, it'll be better than ignoring it."

"Fine." Mettaton cast one more furious glance at Alphys before accepting the call. "If you start shouting again, I'm hanging up."

Undyne seemed weary on the other end of the line. "I'm not gonna shout. I'm… calling… to apologize, I guess."

"Oh, you are, are you?" Mettaton wasn't letting his guard down. She was probably just trying to fool him. Undyne _always_ ended up yelling about something. He got up from the couch and went to his room to spare Blooky and Alphys from it all.

"Yeah, I am." Now Undyne was irritated. "But you can forget it if you're gonna be an ass about it. I'm only doing this because Papyrus wanted me to."

"Oh. I see." That skeleton must know her better than Mettaton realized for him to be able to convince her to do _this_ of all things. "Well, let's hear it, then."

For a second it sounded like Undyne was punching something soft, then she said, "Alright, Mettaton. Papyrus made me realize that maybe—just maybe—my 'predisposition to hate you'—which doesn't actually exist, by the way, I only highly dislike you, not hate you—"

"Could have fooled me."

"Shut up. Anyway, Papyrus thinks my bias against you is clouding my judgment in the matter I… confronted you about earlier," Undyne continued, "and I admit that after thinking about what you said, I realized that you actually seemed really… uncertain about the excuse you gave me—which was a really dumb excuse, just letting you know. Anyway. Papyrus thinks I ought to consider that you actually had a good reason not to come back when Frisk wanted you to. So, I guess I'm sorry that I was so… angry about the whole thing. I am worried about Frisk, but I guess at the end of the day, it's between you and them, and if they've forgiven you… I guess I shouldn't worry about it."

Mettaton was surprised at the sincerity of her words. But still, he had to suppose that in some ways, she had been right to be angry with him; he had given her probably the worst fake excuse he could have come up with.

But the truth was still too hard to tell…

"Mettaton?" Undyne prompted.

Mettaton realized he'd been silent too long. "Oh, uh. Thank you, Undyne, that was actually… I really appreciate that." He took a deep breath. "And I guess I should apologize too. I kept trying to brush off your concerns, and I shouldn't have. I promise I do care about how I make Frisk and the others feel. In all honesty…" He bit his lip. "I had no idea it hurt Frisk that much for me to be away. I'll be sure to really apologize to them as soon as I can. They deserve more than just an email from me."

Undyne cleared her throat on the other end, obviously surprised that he'd taken things so well, and had actually apologized back to her. "Well, uh… thanks, then. I guess."

Awkward silence. Then, "So why didn't you come back?"

Mettaton's throat seemed to close up on him. "I… I…" he choked. "I'm sorry, Undyne, but it's just too complicated to explain right now."

For nearly ten full seconds, Undyne didn't say anything; Mettaton worried she was going to start yelling. Then she sighed. "Okay. You don't have to tell me, then."

"Thanks."

"But let me make something clear."

"Alright."

"We are not friends."

"I didn't think we were."

"I still don't like you."

"Understandable."

"I'm still kinda pissed at you."

"I figured."

"I am counting on you to apologize to Frisk asap. And whatever issues you have with Alphys? Work 'em out. Or else, if I get one more tearful phone call from her, _I_ will."

"I'll try, but she's being difficult." Mettaton flopped down on his bed. His words were whiny, but he was beyond caring at this point.

"Right. And you're not." Undyne's voice dripped sarcasm. "Just do it, you big baby."

"Alright, alright, I will."

"One more thing. Stay away from Papyrus."

"Excuse me?" Mettaton's irritation came back.

"You heard me. Look, I'll gladly recognize that you can be 'nice' sometimes or whatever, but I know what you did to Napstablook and Alphys. In my eyes, you're still too self-obsessed for your own good or anyone else's. And Papyrus already has enough of that. Self-obsession, I mean. And I don't want him getting any more."

"I'm sorry, Papyrus is an _adult,_ am I correct? Or was I imagining things at dinner today?"

"No—you're right," Undyne admitted. "He is an adult. But he's… weird. He's kinda like a kid in some ways. Highly impressionable, he'll do whatever it takes to be accepted by the crowd. He _will_ take in whatever you do and internalize it. And that's why I don't like the idea of you two hanging out."

"If Papyrus is an adult, he can choose his own company. And if he wants to hang around me, then he can," Mettaton said flatly. There was that weird feeling again… the same one he'd gotten when Alphys had been talking about Papyrus's spaghetti. "You might as well tell Frisk not to talk to me, in that case."

"Okay, fine, good point," acceded Undyne. "Fine, let him hang around you. But," she said, her voice dropping warningly, "if he starts acting weird—you're going bye-bye."

"For god's sake, Undyne, I'm not going to _corrupt_ him. I don't even like him that much. I did think he was a bit odd anyway."

"Hey, don't talk about Papyrus that way," she growled.

"You just said he was weird a minute ago!"

"That's different. I'm his best friend, I mean it in the endearing, _friend_ way. Papyrus is a way better guy than you'll ever hope to be."

"Undoubtedly," Mettaton choked. As if he needed reminding of how terribly he'd acted in the past.

Undyne, slightly taken aback by the weird way Mettaton had responded, fell into silence.

This time, Mettaton was the one to break it. "You mentioned today… you took care of Blooky while I was gone?"

"Yeah." Undyne was surprisingly quiet. "They… they were pretty shaken after you left, I guess. I moved in next door right around that time. Their house was all messy, snails were running around loose because stupid kids had let them out… and Napstablook hadn't been outside of their house for a couple of weeks, I think. I knocked on their door, eventually they got around to telling me their troubles. They just said their cousin had left, I didn't know it was you at the time. They said maybe it was about time they started working around the farm again, so I helped them round up the snails." Undyne paused. "They isolated themselves again later… that was when Shyren's sister fell down and Shyren didn't come around anymore for a while. She was the only one Napsta had left after you… but that wasn't her fault, at least."

Mettaton didn't even notice her somewhat accusatory tone. He swallowed. "Thank you."

"What?"

"Thank you. For making sure they were okay. I—" Mettaton wanted so badly to cry, but the tears wouldn't come; he just got a big lump in his throat. "I have to go," he croaked. "Thanks for talking to me."

"Yeah, uh, it, uh, wasn't too bad," Undyne replied. "See you around, I guess."

"Bye."

Mettaton stayed laid back on the bed for several minutes after the call had ended. Undyne's story about Napstablook had been like a bag of bricks to the face. _Napstablook hadn't been outside of their house for a couple of weeks,_ she'd said. _Oh, Blooky,_ he thought. His cousin hadn't said anything of the sort to him, but that was unsurprising. Napstablook hated to upset other people, and this new information was very upsetting indeed.

When they'd met again for the first time in years, they hadn't said anything, just embraced, Mettaton kneeling on the ground with the little ghost trapped in his arms, for several minutes (which hadn't been good for his new body, but he hadn't cared a single bit). Mettaton couldn't even remember if he'd actually said the words "I'm sorry" before he promised Blooky that from now on, they'd be his DJ, and he'd make Shyren his backup singer. Subconsciously he'd thought that might be enough to make up for leaving so suddenly.

He'd figured Blooky had been brokenhearted by his absence, but he never realized they had been just _that_ devastated that they would neglect the farm, something that was near and dear to the hearts of all the Blook family.

Well, almost all the Blook family. Mettaton had been the only one who hadn't cared all that much… at least until it had become his only haven from…

 _Nope. Nope nope nope. Go away, I'm not thinking about that right now._

Mettaton got up abruptly and went back into the living room, flopping back down on the couch next to Blooky.

"So how'd it go?" Alphys asked.

"…it was alright. We both said sorry and meant it this time." Mettaton was too afraid to mention anything about what Undyne had said about Blooky.

"Well, that's nice. S-so you two aren't going to bite each other's heads off next time you meet in person?"

"No." Mettaton switched subjects. "I guess that Papyrus skeleton roped Undyne into doing that. She said he's her best friend. Is that true?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"I dunno, I just thought Papyrus was kind of odd, but sweet… not really the type to be friends with someone like her."

"I'll be honest, I don't think anyone really expected it, least of all her," Alphys said, smiling. "But like you said, he's sweet, and honestly really endearing once you get to know him."

Suddenly Mettaton knew what was bothering him about Papyrus earlier. He couldn't help but repeat the question he'd asked Undyne. "Papyrus is an adult… right?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then why do you all treat him… like that?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know… it just kind of seems to me like you're babying him. Is he really _so_ sensitive you can't tell him he needs to get better at cooking? Or so… naïve… that you have to tell him to avoid strangers, or people you think are bad?"

Alphys shifted her feet. "I mean… Papyrus _is_ pretty naïve, is the thing. And pretty childish sometimes. I'm not really sure that he has the intelligence to match the r-rest of us either… Sans says he probably has some kind of condition or disability… in humans they call it autism. It can m-manifest in a lot of weird and childlike behavior. Like, for Papyrus, he likes playing games and puzzles with Frisk and Flowey and other kids more than he likes hanging around other adults. I said he's really sensitive… and impressionable, he'll do a lot to fit in with everyone else. He gets really excited really easily, can't handle loud noises or flashing lights… and he wears weird clothes, too. I'm honestly shocked he wasn't wearing his battle body today. Must have been cleaning it."

"Battle body?"

"That's what he calls this really goofy-looking outfit he wears almost every day. You'll know it when you see it, it's really… unique." Alphys shrugged. "Anyway, anything we do is just to accommodate him. He doesn't mind. I don't think he even notices most of the time."

If that was supposed to reassure Mettaton, it failed. If anything, he actually felt more disturbed than before.

But if Papyrus was alright with it, then maybe Mettaton shouldn't worry.

Especially since they were still barely acquaintances.

Well, he decided, he'd figure out Papyrus on his own terms. If he started attending these get-togethers more often, he should get to know the skeleton—and the others—quite well.

Mettaton pulled Blooky up onto his lap and told Alphys she could pick a movie to watch. As he watched her dig into her stash of anime, he tried not to worry.

He'd properly made up with Undyne; that was the most important thing. His soul would rest better for it.

Ω

Once his euphoria over the whole night had worn off, Papyrus realized he was in a great deal of pain. He wondered just how he had managed to ignore it all this time.

He stumbled to the bathroom as he held his ribs and winced. He closed the door and pulled his shirt off with difficulty and looked over each individual bone. His entire rib cage was covered with cracks and scars, and his arms and spine were peppered with tiny holes and more scars. None of this was actually a surprise to Papyrus; he'd had those as long as he could remember. What did worry him was how big some of the cracks on his ribs were; the result of his collision with Mettaton and holding back Undyne and just moving around too roughly, he guessed. He was lucky he hadn't dislocated anything.

He held his left hand to the right side of his rib cage and allowed healing green magic to flow from his fingers into the bone, sighing in relief as the pain eased. When he removed his hand, the cracks were faint, just like the other ones on his body.

Papyrus wasn't very old, but he'd had these fractures for upwards of ten years, and he wasn't quite powerful enough to heal them completely. He didn't even know if they could be; sometimes, if a monster was damaged too greatly, no amount of magic or potions could help them fully recover.

He wished he were brave enough to go to Toriel or Asgore; if any monsters were powerful enough to have a chance at healing him, it would be boss monsters. But as his eyes turned to the little plate drilled into his arm, he knew he couldn't; once again, it would mean questions he didn't quite know the answer to. Questions with answers that he should know, and that perhaps floated just out of reach, that gave him a very unpleasant feeling in his stomach region.

 _Come on, now, no more of that,_ he scolded himself. _You're fine._

His eyes drifted unbidden toward the medicine cabinet.

Years of strain on his fractured bones had at one point turned Papyrus into a mess of constant pain that he couldn't hide from his brother. Sans had insisted they see a doctor, who prescribed 5 mg of Percocet, an opioid pain medication, to take every six hours as needed. Papyrus had needed it every day for two months. He seemed to be doing better, now that he was trying to be more careful when moving around. But he continued to take the medication. It felt like his body _needed_ it, even if he wasn't in severe pain. Over the course of several months, he had increased his own dosage and was now taking as many as three or four tablets any time he could, usually in the dead of night. He'd managed to reach terrific highs.

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted one of those highs.

Papyrus pulled the bottle from the medicine cabinet, shook out three tablets, and swallowed them, washing them down with a cup of water.

At that moment, someone suddenly knocked on the door and opened it. "Hey, Pap, are you—" Sans stopped at the sight of a shirtless Papyrus in front of the mirror. "Oh."

"Really, Sans?"

"Sorry, dude… you okay in here?"

"Yes, I'm just fine. That's why I took my medicine out, because I'm doing just fine." Papyrus tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but he wasn't good at judging his tone, and he'd kind of ended up spitting his words out like poison.

"Alright, okay, fine, fair point," Sans conceded, raising his hands. "I mean—did you have to heal yourself again?"

Papyrus sighed. "Yes. Just ribs."

"How about your hands?"

"What about them?"

"You were biting them again today."

Papyrus took off his little red and gold gloves and examined his fingers. Tiny hairline fractures lined a few of them, but he decided Sans didn't need to worry about them. "They're fine."

Sans wasn't fooled. "Let me see them."

"Leave me alone, Sans! I don't need your help!" Papyrus cried, turning away in a panic, but Sans had already taken hold of his hand.

"There are cracks here. You gotta stop doin' that, Papyrus." Sans shook his head. He turned to the bottle on the counter. "Didn't you take some of those just before we went to dinner? That was less than six hours ago. Don't start overdosing on that stuff, dude. It's addictive."

"I know, and I'm not," insisted Papyrus angrily. "I'm not a baby, Sans! I don't need you to tell me what to do." He pulled his hand out of Sans' grasp.

Sans let him go, then picked up the bottle of pills and opened it. "I could have sworn we just got a new bottle of this stuff. Do you really go through it that fast?"

"Y-Yes, yes I do! Now give it to me!"

Sans shook his head. "How many pills did you take just now?"

"My usual amount!" Papyrus was in full-blown panic mode. "Now give me that bottle!"

"Tell me the truth, Papyrus!" persisted Sans.

Instead of answering, Papyrus lunged for the bottle, sending Sans reeling back into the hallway, where he hit his head on the banister. The bottle fell to the floor, pills spilling everywhere, and Papyrus's hands flew to his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice, tears spilling over his cheekbones.

Sans blinked and slowly picked himself up, but otherwise didn't appear to react, which made Papyrus feel worse than if he had cried or yelled about it.

"Forget it."

"No—no, Sans, I—"

"Just forget it, Papyrus, it's okay. Just—please…" Sans searched Papyrus's face imploringly. "Take care of yourself, okay? I can't—I can't lose you."

"Oh, brother." Papyrus smiled a little. "You won't lose me to this, I promise. If anything, _I_ should worry about _you."_

"Right." Sans leaned against the doorframe. "So, uh, how about you put your shirt back on, and we clean up these pills, and then we can watch a movie or something. Just until we fall asleep."

"Okay."

Together, the brothers cleaned up their mess, letting the tension wind down until they were relatively comfortable again, though internally Papyrus was beating himself up for crying in front of Sans. Then they went downstairs to the living room. Papyrus sat crossed-legged on the couch and Sans settled himself in his lap before grabbing the remote and beginning to flick through channels. Papyrus looped his arms around his brother and rested his chin on the top of his head, already feeling a little sleepy.

It had been a very long day.

He kind of wished he hadn't taken as much medication as he had.

Perhaps Sans _was_ right to worry.

"'M sorry, Sans," Papyrus mumbled absently.

"Sorry for what, bro?"

"Just sorry."

For a second, Sans didn't say anything, just took Papyrus's hand.

"It's okay, Pap."

He was right, Papyrus decided with a vacant smile. For now, the pain was gone, and everything was okay.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: Yay, they did it! Undyne and Mettaton are friends now. haha not really. like she said, Undyne is still pissed, but she's not going to let her bias get in the way of recognizing Mettaton as a complex person again. for now they'll probably tolerate each other at best.

now Mettaton just has Blooky on the mind.

and Big Reveal about Papyrus-he's a bit of a drug addict. he's trying to tread carefully, but he really likes the sense of euphoria he gets from overdosing on the medication...

and poor Sans. all he knows is that his brother is in pain and the secrets they keep are making them drift apart, and he doesn't know how to deal with any of it.

but things will get better. sure, it'll be a while, but they'll get better.

now, in terms of updating this thing:

I have lots of plot ideas. for the most part, I think I have a coherent plan for the rest of the story. the main deal is I have to arrange them in a sensible order and then string them altogether. and now that this little Dinner At Frisk's/Future Lovers Meeting arc is over, I need to take time to do some more thorough outlining.

so, while I think I have an idea of what I want to do for the next chapter, it's probably gonna be a little while before it comes out, a little longer than usual. plus I'm still writing my Underfell fic, which may update 2 or 3 times before I get another chapter of Papyton out, I'm not sure yet, it depends on how far I get.

anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading-I know things are kind of depressing, but that's kind of what life is like when you have trauma and other unresolved issues clouding your psyche. next chapter should be a little lighter-toned though, so you have that to look forward to.


	7. Rebuilding

_**Trigger warnings: implied sexual assault, emotional manipulation/gaslighting, emetophobia**_

 _Chapter 7 – Rebuilding from the Ground_

Mettaton didn't have to leave so early for work on Sunday. He didn't have to go anywhere at all, really, but he wanted to stop by the fashion studio, see how everyone was doing, and maybe start on a few new clothing designs.

He was able to say goodbye to Napstablook and Alphys before he left and stop at a drive-thru for breakfast. For once, he didn't have to practically inhale it before starting work. It felt kind of nice.

Now there was just one more thing he needed to do before he went to the studio.

Mettaton drove all the way to an empty lot he'd bought months ago to see how the construction on his new resort was going.

This resort was meant to be a sort of replacement for the MTT Resort in the Underground that had been shut down when everyone left. When it was finished, it was supposed to have over 2500 suites, three heated outdoor pools, an indoor pool, four tennis courts, a five-star restaurant with a dance floor, a gym, a full day spa, an ice rink, a movie theater, a large garden, and a casino, as well as several amenities for children like playgrounds and arcades to make it family-friendly. The lot was right on the bay, so guests would have ocean views and direct access to the beach. It would be a truly exquisite vacation spot once it was finished.

Construction was supposed to have started in February, right around the time Mettaton had started his tour. He didn't expect it to be finished yet—it was only June, after all, and this resort was a huge undertaking—but he was hoping the frame of the building would be long finished and the inside started on.

Unfortunately, when he got there, the frame seemed barely three-quarters finished. The site managers scrambled with clipboards and paper as Mettaton got out of his car with some disdain.

"G-good morning, Mettaton, sir!" one of them exclaimed, smiling tightly, probably praying he wasn't about to get fired. "How-how was your tour?"

"Hello, James," Mettaton said evenly, completely throwing the man off with the casual use of his first name. "It was lovely. How has the building been coming along?"

"Ah, yes, the building." James swallowed. "It's—been coming. I'm afraid we had some weather trouble back in March—direct hit by a tropical cyclone, see. Pretty rare, but it happened. Flooding and wind, couldn't work safely at all—"

"Of course not," interrupted Mettaton. "I wouldn't have expected you to. Do tell me what else happened."

"Well…" James seemed far more comfortable since Mettaton wasn't throwing a fit. "We had to wait until the water went down to start work again, which wasn't until almost April. And we've had a lot of wind in general over the past few months. So we've had to work more slowly than usual. But the pace has been picking up now that it's winter and the wind's died down. So," he said with a more genuine smile, "hopefully we should have the frame finished by the end of next month!"

Mettaton pursed his lips as he glanced around the site. There didn't seem to be any reason to doubt James—the men seemed to be working hard, other than a few who were goofing off, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. But he still wanted to ensure that the job would be done. "Tell you what," he said, pulling out a little pink glittery notebook and pen. "I'm going to raise everyone's paycheck by fifty percent. Have the entire exterior done by October, and you'll all get to keep that raise."

"Fif—fifty percent?" James choked.

"That's what I said. Unless you want less?"

"No, no! Not at all. Thank you, sir." The poor man still looked like he might have a heart attack; then again, a raise was usually not what one expected to get as a reward for delayed construction.

"Hopefully that'll be enough of an incentive to keep everyone working hard." Mettaton closed the notebook and snapped it back in his handbag. "I'll be checking back sometime next month. Do call if you have a problem between now and then."

"Of course, sir! Have a nice day!"

"And the same to all of you."

Once he got back in his car, Mettaton banged his fists on the wheel angrily. He was glad he hadn't totally lost it out there, like he'd been tempted to do. He didn't even know why he was so upset over this. So what if his resort was finished a few weeks or even a few months off schedule? It wasn't like he even really _had_ a set schedule for it. And clearly everyone out there was working hard, and they certainly couldn't control the weather.

Perhaps that was the problem. Control. He'd lost control of his little project for a short time and now his dramatic personality was spinning things out of proportion.

 _Alright, Tonnie, time to calm down,_ he told himself. _It's not the end of the world. Just go to the studio now. It'll all be fine._

He forced himself to breathe in and out evenly as he drove. Eventually the anger faded away into total apathy. Who cared if the damned resort ever got built and opened. It would just be yet another thing for Mettaton to worry about.

 _I care,_ he reminded himself. _I never would have started building the thing if I didn't care. And I_ like _worrying about things—or having things to look after, anyway._

Suddenly, Mettaton was very tired. Looking after things, designing clothes, filming, everything else he did—parts of him demanded he do them all incessantly so he wouldn't get bored, so he wouldn't think about _things,_ but the other parts of him seemed to be running out of steam to do them. Maybe Alphys was right, maybe he _did_ need a long break from everything. Moneywise, he could certainly afford it.

But the idea of sitting around and doing nothing productive really scared Mettaton.

He kept driving, all the way to the fashion studio. Surely once he got there and saw everyone, he'd find the energy to keep working.

He didn't really look around as he pulled into the parking lot. It was only once he got out of his car that he saw the worst possible thing, the _very last_ possible person he wanted to see _ever,_ let alone when he was already feeling upset.

 _He_ was waiting for Mettaton in front of the building.

Mettaton began to tremble all over. He didn't even know why; if it came down to it, Mettaton was far stronger physically and magically, but his fear seemed to put a tight stopper on the magic, and he didn't know if he could stop shaking enough or even find the willpower to fight properly.

For a wild moment, he considered getting back in his car and driving as far away as possible, or perhaps making a break for the building.

But _he_ was already coming over.

 _Leave me alone,_ Mettaton begged in his mind as he started briskly walking toward the building, deliberately not looking at the man making a beeline straight for him. _Please…_

"Mettaton!" the man cried, smiling brightly and putting a hand on his arm.

Mettaton felt bile, or the magical equivalent, rise in his throat. The man looked and seemed just as Mettaton remembered him—fair skin, short blond hair, bright blue eyes, his touch gentle—no, it wasn't gentle, not the way Mettaton used to think. It was as if he was holding a precious object, one that he desired with no inhibition.

The robot took a few shaky steps back. "Devon." His voice was barely a squeak.

Devon's eyes—god, Mettaton hated those deceiving eyes—became sad. "I see you remember."

"Of course I remember—" Mettaton was still whispering. "How could I forget—" _The way you grabbed me and ignored me as I cried and begged you to stop. The way you made sure I couldn't fight back. The way you left me—_

Mettaton didn't know if he could throw up, but he sure wanted to.

"Mettaton, look, I—" Devon put up his hands. "I messed up. I know I did. I—I should have listened."

 _That's the understatement of the century,_ Mettaton thought. But he'd lost the courage to keep responding out loud.

"I get it, why you're scared of me," Devon continued. "But I won't do that again. I'm sorry. I promise."

Mettaton still said nothing. He wanted to run away, but his legs wouldn't move.

"That said, it would be helpful if you would communicate clearly in the future." Now those eyes were admonishing. "You were flirting with me all that night, and you acted like you wanted _something_ from me. You even _said_ you did at one point. I was only giving you what you said you wanted."

"I never—" Mettaton's throat finally opened enough for him to speak. "I _never_ said I wanted that."

"I'm almost certain you did," insisted Devon. "I mean, I know you weren't quite all there—you probably don't remember, you had a lot of wine that night. But I'm really quite certain that you did say you wanted it."

 _Except_ you _were the one who gave me all that wine…_

Mettaton's memories were fuzzy, but giving explicit consent to anything at all was definitely not sounding familiar.

But maybe Devon was right… maybe that was just one of the things he'd forgotten.

"I still said no later," whispered Mettaton.

"I didn't hear that. And if I had, I'd have probably thought—I might have thought maybe that was part of your hard-to-get act."

"My what?" When had Mettaton ever played _hard to get?_

"Well—for a couple of months, you'd been flirting with me, and when I flirted back you pretended you hadn't," Devon explained. "If you'd been loud enough that night, I'd have probably thought you'd dropped the act under the influence, realized it, and were trying to get back into it."

The excuse sounded very flimsy to Mettaton, but his memories of the night seemed more jumbled by the minute. Maybe he _hadn't_ really been crying… maybe it had just been the alcohol. Maybe he _hadn't_ said no loud enough for Devon to hear, in which case this might be just a big misunderstanding.

But then why did he feel so _broken_ now?

And there was one other thing…

"So why'd you leave me on the street, then?" Mettaton hissed. "After it was all over? You could have at least taken me home…"

"I saw you were passed out…" Devon's eyes searched his face imploringly. "I just—panicked. I realized you'd probably be a right mess when you woke up and I just—didn't know what to do. You know I have anxiety problems," he added, a hint of a whine in his voice, "They make me do things I normally wouldn't. But I did at least try to set you up comfortably before I ran. You must have fallen over."

Mettaton seemed to remember waking up in a painful, crumpled heap in a parking lot the next morning, but Devon seemed so apologetic… maybe he was remembering that wrong, too. "And where did you disappear off to for all that time before I even left?"

"I had some money stashed away—I had to think about some things, so I quit work and went away for a while," said Devon quietly. "I was lucky to get my job back when I returned—and I was surprised to find you weren't in the country. Then again, I hadn't really been paying attention to what you were doing.

"But now that we're both back—" He tried to take Mettaton's hand. "Please, can't we forget this all happened? I know I screwed up—screwed up badly. I make a lot of mistakes on impulse like that, you know I would never mean to hurt you. Can't we start over? Be friends again?"

Mettaton removed his hand from the man's grasp. Almost his entire being screamed _no, get away from me, never talk to me again,_ but one small but persistent part of his mind thought that maybe Devon really _was_ sorry, maybe he _did_ deserve forgiveness, maybe he _should_ let the man into his life again.

"I'll think about it," he replied, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Devon smiled brightly. "I understand. If you ever need me, just call, and I'll be right by the stairs at the film studio in the mornings five days a week, just like I used to be!" he said, patting Mettaton's shoulder.

Mettaton waited until he was sure Devon had driven away before he went inside the fashion studio. The designers and their models swarmed around him.

"Mettaton! How lovely to see you again," an older man rumbled.

"I saw you were with _Devon_ just now, does that mean you've made up?" one of the models asked coaxingly.

"M-Made up? What do you mean?" stuttered Mettaton. How much had Devon said about their falling out?

"He said you guys had a bit of a fight and you didn't want to talk to him for the longest time. But we just saw you out there talking to him now, didn't we, girls?" she said, turning to the other models.

Mettaton stiffened. "Yes. Well. We did… have a fight… and I didn't like some of the things he had to say," he got out. "He was just trying to apologize to me. I told him I'd think about forgiving him," he added, knowing what they'd all ask next.

"Well, I definitely hope you forgive him! You guys looked so cute together, we were all just _waiting_ for you to become an official couple until all that. He's so nice, you know? Soft. I think he'd be good for you," the model fawned.

Mettaton couldn't listen to any more of this. "Excuse me. I need the restroom," he said, worming his way out of the crowd.

As it turned out, Mettaton _could_ throw up.

He was sick in a toilet for nearly ten minutes straight, in fact. He felt like he was coughing up his entire soul.

Afterwards, he leaned on the counter in front of the mirror, wiping the ectoplasm from his mouth, shaking just as hard as he had been earlier.

 _Devon Hart_ was back in his life, as sudden as a thunderbolt out of the blue. And he had _everyone_ fooled.

Or did he? Mettaton didn't know if he could trust his own memories anymore. It _had_ happened quite a while ago, and he'd been more than just a little tipsy that night.

Clearly _something_ bad had happened, but if it was just a mistake… if he really _was_ just pushing someone away who cared about him, yet again…

Maybe he _should_ make up with him. After all, it wasn't _all_ Devon's fault… Mettaton did recall being pretty flirty that night… perhaps this was all because he just didn't know how to tell people straight up what he wanted.

In that case, Mettaton was _obligated_ to at least apologize. Maybe even give being friends again a try.

Things had to go back to normal eventually, right?

And then he wouldn't feel bad anymore.

But paranoia won out.

He decided he wasn't going to call, or seek Devon out, or have anything to do with him for the time being. It was just too painful, even after all these months.

When he came out of the restroom, Mettaton was completely composed. He smiled as one of his fellow clothing designers said, "It's really fantastic to have you back, Mettaton. Things have been rather boring here without your dramatic flair."

"I don't doubt that," he agreed. "So, I was thinking about this new dress design I came up with on the way over. Let me draw you up a sketch, I'd love to see what you think."

Ω

Papyrus was up early again on Sunday, though not as early as usual. He was excited to continue the project he had waiting in the garage.

After inhaling some toast, he changed into an old T-shirt, denim shorts, and sneakers, then went outside and took in the crisp morning air before pulling up the garage door and backing his car out onto the driveway.

Finally, he pulled a large, heavy _somethin_ g, covered by a white tarp, toward the middle of the garage. He whipped off the tarp dramatically to reveal the frame of an old Buell XB12R Firebolt motorcycle. The engine, wheels, lights, seat, handlebars, and other parts were all scattered about the garage.

It was Papyrus's project, his 'baby' as he'd taken to calling it around the house. He'd gotten it cheap off one of his coworkers, who was trying to get rid of it. It was a 2095 model, just over a decade old at this point, and though the paint had long worn off the plastic parts and the old engine no longer worked, it had still been in pretty good condition for all that.

Papyrus was taking it upon himself to rebuild the engine from scratch, and soon he hoped to replace the headlights, taillights, leather seat and handlebars, and several other things. Then he'd put the whole thing back together, shine the metal parts, and paint it the color of his choice, and it'd look good as new.

Then he'd get to _ride_ it. There was no doubt in his mind he'd be the coolest guy on the block, zooming around on a sleek, shiny racing motorcycle.

Not that he actually knew how to ride it yet. But he'd learn.

Papyrus had to work slowly and carefully in order not to aggravate his chronic pain, but fortunately finishing the engine wasn't particularly vigorous, and he'd taken apart and rebuilt so many car engines before that this one wasn't really difficult to build, either. Of course, it _worked_ differently, since it was a different kind of vehicle, but learning the differences was hardly a problem for him.

He'd been working for a couple of hours when he heard the door to the house open.

"Mornin', Pap. You still workin' on that engine?"

"Good morning, brother! I was just finishing it up, actually, see?" Papyrus moved aside so Sans could look at it on the floor, old and spare parts scattered around it. "I just need to make sure I screw this together right—and done! Now I can put the whole thing back in the motorcycle. I have to fix some of the framing before I do that, though," he said thoughtfully. "That means I need the welding torch. You have to go inside or put on a mask, it's very bright and dangerous."

"Throw me one of those, then, would ya?" Sans held out his hands and caught the mask Papyrus tossed at him. "Thanks."

Papyrus pulled on a pair of heavy gloves and picked up the welding torch.

"Sure you can handle that by yourself?" Sans asked from behind his mask.

Papyrus gave him a look before slipping on his own mask and beginning to weld some of the framing of the bike back together.

He had to bend over a fair bit to do the work, and bolts of pain shot through his spine as though it were protesting. _Should have taken another pill this morning._ But it wasn't overwhelming, so he ignored it until he was finished.

Sans didn't miss when his brother pressed his hand against his hip and leaned back. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. The torch is just a bit heavy," said Papyrus shortly. "So that's done. Now it has to cool down before I do anything else."

"Okay, well, your back looks like it's bothering you. How about you come inside and rest a little—"

"Nonsense, Sans. There's too much work to be done!" Papyrus started counting on his fingers. "The clothes need to be cleaned and ironed, the dishes need to be rinsed, I want to get a crack at tidying up your room, and my car could use a wash—I think I'll do that now, since we're already outside. And who knows what else could use a cleaning around here."

"Didn't you just wash your car last week?" Sans was mentally reeling from everything Papyrus wanted to do today. "And I keep telling you, leave my stuff alone. If I want it to be clean, I'll do it."

"Sans, you know darn well you wouldn't. I really don't understand why you're so protective over garbage and boxes of papers. Honestly, what need do you have for hundreds of outdated CORE documents?" Papyrus rolled his eyes. "Those should have gone straight to the Monster Archives. And I'm still waiting for an explanation on how that trash tornado followed us up from the Underground."

"Papyrus, stop." Sans rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Stop what?" Papyrus seemed almost offended. "Trying to keep our house in order? Making sure you can actually _live_ in your own bedroom? Brother, really, I—"

"No, I mean—you're always goin' a hundred miles an hour, trying to find work to do or whatever, and you never take a break. It's like every minute of your day has to be filled with something… I dunno, _meaningful,"_ explained Sans. "It's not good for you, it's why your bones are hurting all the time. You're really gonna do some irreparable damage if you keep goin' like this, dude."

Papyrus sighed. "You just don't understand, Sans. Just like _I_ don't understand how you feel the need to sleep all the time. We are just very different monsters." He smiled. "You don't need to worry about me! I like keeping busy. Though perhaps you're right," he admitted, "I _could_ maybe use a little break every once in a while—it would definitely allow me to spend more time with you! So if ever you find some fun activity you think I would enjoy, please, do not hesitate to tell me about it!"

"Alright, bro," Sans chuckled. "Just take care of yourself while you're doing everything."

"I _will,_ Sans. You say that to me almost every day!" laughed Papyrus. "For such a lazy, apathetic person, you are quite a worrywart."

"Hey, without you, I got nothin'," said Sans seriously. "We're on the surface now, Frisk isn't gonna—" He broke off and cleared his throat, like he'd said something he shouldn't have. "I just—have reason to worry."

Papyrus wanted to ask about what he was going to say regarding Frisk, but he'd long ago learned that Sans wouldn't say anything if he didn't want to. So he let it go instead. "If you say so. Now, I am going to wash this car, and then I am going to reinstall this engine in my motorcycle. And then—! I don't know what then."

"Okay. I'm gonna go inside. Let me know when you're ready with that engine, it looks heavy and I wanna try to help."

"That's… very kind of you, Sans. I'll let you know."

"Promise?"

" _Yes,_ Sans, I promise!" Papyrus huffed exasperatedly. "Now go and laze around until I call you!"

Papyrus couldn't help but laugh as his brother went back inside. Sans could be so silly sometimes. _There's nothing to worry about,_ he thought as he pulled out the hose and a bucket to wash his car. _I'm doing fine! I didn't even need my medicine yet today! And I've made huge progress on my motorcycle—maybe we can celebrate a little tonight._

Yes, Papyrus was sure he was doing just fine. There was no reason for Sans—or anyone else—to worry.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: finally! another chapter.

my beta reader said it was obvious to him what was going on, but I just want to make this very clear, in case someone doesn't get it: **Devon is gaslighting Mettaton.** Google gives the definition of gaslighting as "manipulating (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity." You can replace "sanity" with "memories" or "reality" and it's the same deal.

Gaslighting is a tactic many abusers use to fool their victims into believing they aren't being abused, and it's pretty effective. If you are in any kind of relationship, and the conversation in the story sounds familiar to you, it's possible you are being manipulated and/or abused. If you believe you are being manipulated, you ought to seek to end the relationship, find help, or do whatever you can to make yourself safe.

That's really all I have to say on this chapter, except that it's a very important chapter in relation to the rest of the story.

I'm working on another little Papyton story for a friend's birthday, so it'll be a little bit before either this story or my Underfell story (if any of you are reading that) updates.

I appreciate reviews, and I read every one of them fondly even if I don't know how to respond!


	8. Talks and Tea

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 8 – Talks and Tea_

Mettaton still wasn't doing well by Wednesday.

As promised, he'd seen Devon by the stairs at the film studio for the past three days. The man hadn't tried to speak to him yet, but Mettaton knew it wouldn't be much longer. He'd still been given a smile and a wink every day, as if they shared some great secret (he supposed that in a strange and terrible way, they did).

His work, which had been his main source of joy for years, as well as a distraction from everything hurting him, was no longer a safe haven. That fact was eating away at Mettaton like a savage beast. Devon knew where his office was, where his favorite places to eat were, what times his breaks were… he might not know exactly where Mettaton might be while he was filming or talking to directors and producers, but he knew enough about his schedule that he could catch him at just about any time, if he had a mind.

That made Mettaton very jumpy. He didn't even know why; it wasn't as if Devon could try anything with all these people around… he didn't even know if Devon _wanted_ to try anything. But he wasn't willing to take the chance right now.

He suspected his work might be suffering from the strain; he'd heard whispers in the halls about not seeming motivated enough lately. So today he'd really thrown himself into it, and had become entirely too enthusiastic about some stunt filming such that he completely messed up the stunt and nearly busted both his legs in the process. He'd turned completely red in the face when he realized the other actors and the cameramen were whispering again and staring.

Overall, it had not been a good week.

Fortunately, Mettaton did have something to look forward to tonight, and that was tea with Asgore.

Asgore had called him on Monday, saying he had a free evening on Wednesday, and would Mettaton care to join him for tea and maybe even some dinner at his house at five thirty? Mettaton had said yes eagerly; the idea of spending a Devon-free evening with his father-figure was very appealing.

So Mettaton left the film studio at four o'clock, his heart considerably lightened despite his abysmal work day.

He stopped by his apartment to freshen up and remind Blooky and Alphys that he'd be at Asgore's for a while, and then he was off.

He hoped the conversation would stay light and cheerful; he didn't think he could take talking or thinking about Devon for one more second.

Asgore was watering the golden flowers in his front garden when Mettaton pulled into his driveway. A great big smiled stretched across the old goat's face as the robot got out of his car. Mettaton ran quite a bit faster and threw himself into Asgore's arms quite a bit harder than he meant to, but he didn't care. He was just glad to feel safe for once this week.

"Do come inside, Mettaton!" invited Asgore warmly. "I just picked some flowers a few minutes ago to use for our tea. And I can put chicken pot pies in the oven soon, if you'd like to eat dinner with me."

"I would love that," said Mettaton sincerely. "Honestly, it'll have been the best thing I've done all week."

"Oh? Have things not been going well?" Asgore sounded concerned as he led Mettaton into his kitchen and began to boil some water for the tea.

Mettaton slapped himself mentally; he hadn't meant to let slip anything about this week. "Oh, no, they've been just fine. Just… a little… boring, I guess. Same old routine."

Asgore sat down at the table and pulled out a chair for Mettaton, who took it. "Ah, yes. I do know that feeling. I've been tending the same flowers and working the same job for a year… though sometimes I still forget, and wake up in the morning thinking I must get up and rule." He chuckled. "In some ways, this is still very different from what I am used to."

"I can't imagine how it all must feel." In truth, Mettaton hadn't really thought about how Asgore must feel about his rapid demotion from great king to… "What do you work as, again?"

"I am a cashier at the grocery store just outside of this neighborhood," answered Asgore humbly.

"That's… that's really an incredible change of lifestyles, then," Mettaton realized. "That must be very hard."

"In some ways, yes. But in other ways, it is quite relieving," Asgore responded. Then he smiled. "You needn't worry about how I feel. I know that others wished for me to take other positions… and indeed, I considered them. But this is the life I chose. And," he paused, his voice growing heavy, "after all I have done… it is still better than the life I deserve."

Mettaton knew he must be referring to the human souls he had taken. "Well," he tried to comfort him, "it isn't like you really _wanted_ to do that. It was for the greater good, wasn't it? To free us from the wrong that the humans did to us."

"Two wrongs do not make a right. It is, as they say, a bit of a cliché, but it is true." Asgore's voice was still heavy. Then he shook his head. "But it is what it is. This is my life, now. And I believe it is one I am far better suited to than I am to any other. Again, I chose this, just as you chose to leave your country life and become a star. And I am not sorry, just as you are not."

The look on Mettaton's face must have said otherwise, because then Asgore asked, "You are not sorry, are you?"

Too late, Mettaton changed his facial expression. "Oh, no, no, of course not!" he tried to laugh. "I mean, it _does_ take up a lot of time. And I don't get to see my family or my friends very often. And occasionally I get a stalker or two… but no, I don't regret anything."

Asgore was about to say something, but then he heard the water boiling. He got up from his chair to steep the flowers and herbs. Both monsters were silent for several minutes until Asgore poured the tea into a couple of mugs and handed one to Mettaton. He looked into the robot's eyes as he sat back down.

"Are you alright, Mettaton?"

Mettaton took a slow sip of his tea; it was a little too hot to drink. "Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem very tired. And perhaps a little… frightened."

Mettaton had to laugh at that. "Frightened? What would I be frightened of?"

Asgore shrugged. "That is for you to tell me, or not."

Mettaton didn't have an answer for that.

"Even if you are truly not frightened, you still seem very tired. Are they overworking you at the studio?" asked Asgore.

"Oh, no. Nobody really _makes_ me do anything," explained Mettaton. "Except what's in their scripts, of course, but it's not hard to deviate from those if I want to. Really, I run the show around there," he added proudly.

"Really?" Asgore sounded impressed, but not happy. "Then you must be working awfully hard."

"Oh, I am." Mettaton smiled.

"How often do you take breaks now? I remember we used to have tea together a few times a week, but since we came to the surface it's seemed like you have no time to even call. We've only met up maybe four or five times in the past year."

"Yes—well—" Mettaton scrambled for an excuse. "It's no five or so minute walk to New Home anymore—I drive a good twenty minutes, half an hour to work from home now. My breaks are too short for me to really drive anywhere."

"How long are your breaks?"

Mettaton very suddenly felt like a small child being interrogated for some mischief. "Oh… five or ten minutes or so," he said nonchalantly, failing to mention that he often used his breaktime for more menial tasks like office work, calling his agents, and checking on his employees instead of actually resting.

"And how often did you say they were?"

"Twice a day."

Asgore looked very worried. "Mettaton—do you even eat anything during the day?"

"Snacks, here and there." Mettaton didn't see what the big deal was. "I've learned to get by without a lot of food. And I'm never really that hungry, anyway," he lied.

"Mettaton, you have to eat something! Without a proper diet, you could damage your magical defenses and even become ill," Asgore insisted, standing up. "I'm putting on some dinner for you right now, and I'm not letting you leave this house until you eat every last bite!"

"I mean, I wasn't planning on leaving without eating," Mettaton tried to calm him. "Asgore, please—I'm doing fine, I promise. I'm not tired at all, really!"

Asgore shook his head. "I've lived far too long not to recognize the signs. You're exhausting yourself, Mettaton. And if you don't stop soon, you will literally work yourself to death."

"I'm _fine."_

"As the former king of monsters, my word still holds some weight. I will call your workplaces myself and ask them to limit your worktime if I have to."

"No—don't—" Panic bloomed in Mettaton's chest. "Stop worrying about me! You're not my parent, and I don't need one looking after me like I'm a child!"

His words rang through the kitchen. Mettaton immediately felt terrible; Asgore may not have been his parent (if only), but he _had_ been something close, his mentor, and he knew his words must have stung.

But Asgore brushed it off. "I may not be your parent, but I am your friend, and I just don't want anything to happen to you," he said gently. "I see you don't want my help right now… but rest assured, when you are ready to ask, I will be ready to give it to you."

"I'm sorry," Mettaton said, looking at the ground. "You've been wonderful to me—it's more than I probably deserve. I just wish you'd believe me when I say I'm fine."

"If… if that is what you would like me to believe, then I will not press the issue," Asgore answered slowly, sliding two pot pies into his oven. "Just let me know if you do need help, alright?"

"Okay."

"Thank you. Now, dinner will be on the table in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, if you care to tell me, have you been up to anything interesting lately?"

Happy to be talking about something else, Mettaton chattered about the new movie he was starring in and some of the new clothing designs he was coming up with. He also went on about his new resort, how he was disappointed that it was behind schedule, but the schedule was flexible anyway, so he supposed it didn't matter much.

He didn't notice that Asgore's mind seemed to be on other things.

They fell into a comfortable silence as the pot pies were served and eaten. The flaky crust seemed to melt over Mettaton's tongue, and the meat and vegetables reminded him of happier days, when he was but a child.

His heart ached at the thought… how he wished his childhood had lasted, had ended properly.

No, he couldn't think about that anymore. That was past. This was now.

This was now. He was in Asgore's kitchen, eating good food and having good conversation.

He was safe.

Safe…

"Asgore… what would you do if you didn't feel safe at work?" The words slipped out of Mettaton's mouth before he could stop them.

Asgore paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Is someone making you feel unsafe?" he asked, alarmed. "I would be more than happy to take care of them for you—"

"No, no, this is hypothetical, I promise," lied Mettaton. "Say—say they weren't really bothering you, per se—just sort of—hanging around, and you're not really sure what you would say to them if they started speaking to you…"

Asgore chewed slowly before answering. "I might report them to management, I suppose. See if they couldn't make this person go away, perhaps ban them from the premises…" He met Mettaton's gaze. "Are you entirely sure this is hypothetical?"

Mettaton knew he wasn't fooling Asgore at all, but he lied for the third time that day anyway. "Yes."

"If you are certain…" Asgore didn't seem certain at all. "I seem to recall you mentioned something about stalkers earlier. That is why I ask. I would hate for anyone to harm you because I did not help."

"I can handle people myself, but thank you." Mettaton smiled. He finished his meal silently and helped to clean up the dishes when Asgore was finished too. "Well," he sighed when all was done, "I think I'd better get home and see what Blooky and Alphys are up to. Thank you for inviting me over, I had a nice time."

The two of them embraced once more. Mettaton just couldn't get over Asgore's hugs; they were like being wrapped up in a big furry security blanket. So warm, and sincere, and secure.

"Thank you for coming over, Mettaton." Asgore's voice was just as warm and sincere as his hug. "I do hope we can do this again. Are you coming to dinner at Toriel's again this weekend?"

"I actually had planned to," said Mettaton. "I know my… squabble with Undyne was unsightly, but otherwise it really was a lovely time."

"Ah, yes… you did clear that up with her?" Asgore obviously thought he was broaching on a touchy subject.

"We did. We're as amicable as we can be, for now."

"Excellent, excellent," boomed Asgore. "Then I'm sure that the next dinner will be even more pleasant than the last!"

They finally broke apart. Mettaton sighed as he drove away, wishing he didn't have to leave, that he didn't have to hide anything, that he didn't have to work so hard in order to feel alright. Wishing that nothing had ever happened to him and that he was just as happy as he pretended to be.

Asgore was right, though Mettaton hated to admit it: he was exhausting himself. He probably wouldn't feel quite as tired if he weren't currently living in mortal fear of Devon cornering him somewhere, but all the work he'd been doing since coming to the surface was finally taking its toll on him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going like this, but he still didn't plan on stopping any time soon.

He _needed_ his work. Of course Asgore wouldn't understand, of course he would be relieved at having his role as king removed from him; that had been a job so difficult and life-consuming that Mettaton doubted even _he'd_ really want to do it.

But what Mettaton _did_ do? It was his entire identity, his purpose, his only escape. Without it, he'd go wild. He'd feel meaningless, useless, and he'd never be able to stop _thinking._

As much as he could see Asgore's point, Mettaton couldn't stop working now.

Even if Devon was driving him crazy with fear.

 _As long as I avoid him, I'll be okay,_ Mettaton thought. In the meantime, he would try and take Asgore's other piece of advice—talking to management. Except he wouldn't be talking to them about removing Devon from the premises—he'd be asking to do some offsite work for at least the rest of the week instead. _That should be enough time to get over this._

Now, he decided, he would just ruminate over the dinner he'd just had and look forward to the family gathering this weekend.

He smiled.

At least there was one thing Devon couldn't ruin for him.

Ω

Papyrus was taking a walk past Asgore's house when he saw a hot pink car disappear down the street. He stopped next to Asgore, who was waving goodbye at the top of his driveway. "Was that who I thought it was?" the skeleton asked excitedly.

Asgore jumped. "Oh! Papyrus, hello there. If you thought that was Mettaton, then yes, you are correct," he chuckled.

"Wowie. I didn't know he stopped by here!" exclaimed Papyrus. "I wish I'd gotten to say hello."

"Yes, well…" Asgore patted Papyrus's shoulder. "He didn't seem to be in high spirits, so perhaps it is for the best that you didn't see him today."

"Mettaton? Not in high spirits? Impossible!" Papyrus cried incredulously. "What could possibly be troubling him?"

Asgore sat down heavily on his front porch steps. "Well, I've just been very worried about how much and how hard he's working. He seems very tired lately."

Papyrus sat down next to him. "What's wrong with working hard?"

"Oh, absolutely nothing, my dear boy. But when you work as long as Mettaton does, it really takes a toll on you."

The skeleton shrugged. "I don't know. I work very hard all day, every day, and I don't feel tired at all!"

Asgore made a strange expression. "Really? I was just thinking the other day, when we were all at dinner… you seemed rather winded after running into Mettaton. Much more than I would have expected a healthy, not-tired skeleton to be."

Papyrus shrugged again, but this time he seemed much more subdued, and he didn't meet Asgore's eyes. "Running into a monster made of pure metal was much more painful than I expected it to be. Robots aren't soft like us skeletons. They are hard and cold and don't serve well as landing pads," he babbled. "I promise that I'm fine and that I have suffered no ill effects from the fall—or from anything else!"

Asgore sighed, and Papyrus knew he hadn't fooled him one bit. But like with Mettaton, Asgore didn't press the issue. "If you are sure. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

"Of course."

Neither of them said anything else for a minute.

"So… so you think Mettaton is working too hard?" Papyrus still didn't quite believe that there was any such thing as working too hard.

"Yes, I do," sighed Asgore. "He also asked me about something rather disturbing… he insisted it was purely hypothetical, but he didn't convince me of that at all."

"What was it?" Papyrus wondered.

Instead of giving him a direct answer, Asgore smiled sadly and patted his shoulder again. "You don't need to worry about it," he said. "We can handle it just fine."

Anger flared very briefly in Papyrus's chest; why was he never allowed to help with anything? But he squashed it down. "I hope so," he said, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "I never really thought about celebrities having troubles. I hope Mettaton is okay."

For once, instead of reassuring Papyrus, Asgore just stared into the evening sky, looking very worried. "I think… deep down, Mettaton is a very troubled soul." He looked back at Papyrus. "Celebrities very often have unstable, even difficult lives. Always in the spotlight, rarely getting any privacy… never knowing who they can trust and who is just using them for money or fame. And many of them… their lives before stardom were… not the best." Asgore sighed, and a puzzled look came over his face. "Before we came to the surface, when Mettaton and I still talked, he never said anything about his life before he became a star… of course, at the time I didn't think that strange at all, because I thought Alphys had created him, and his soul… but now that I know the truth, that he _did_ have a life before stardom… so many celebrities have terrible childhoods, I have to wonder…"

Papyrus was slightly frustrated with the way Asgore kept getting quieter, breaking off his sentences as if he were thinking out loud, but he didn't interrupt.

"I always got this strange sort of… melancholy feeling coming from him, back in the Underground. And it's only seemed to strengthen since coming here. Very strange, considering how happy he often appears on the screen, and how thrilled he was to meet more humans and see the sun…" Asgore finally seemed to remember who he was talking to. He smiled at Papyrus again. "But you don't need to hear the musings of an old goat. It's all quite hard to understand, especially if you're not as perceptive as some of us older folk."

Papyrus was beginning to feel a bit stupid, but he knew Asgore would be upset if he said anything.

In truth, he hadn't really picked up on anything Asgore was saying. But then, he and Mettaton had only just met the other day, could anyone really expect him to figure out any of this? No one else had seemed to.

"Well…" said Papyrus slowly, "whatever's going on with Mettaton, I'm sure he can handle it. Celebrities couldn't be celebrities if they couldn't handle hardships… right? And he's done so well thus far…"

"Yes, I suppose he has been holding his own," Asgore agreed. "The question, at least for me, is how much longer." He stood up. "But you really needn't worry about any of that. I know you have your own things to worry about, like work, and your brother, and whatnot…" He sighed. "Why don't you come inside before you head back? I believe I still have some tea left over from earlier."

"I would love to!" answered Papyrus immediately. Hot tea always had a soothing effect on his aching bones.

As he got up and went inside, Papyrus still couldn't help but think about everything Asgore had just said about Mettaton.

Could celebrity life really be that difficult? Was Mettaton really working too hard? Was there really even such a thing as working too hard? Did Papyrus's favorite star really have some kind of dark past?

It was all too much for him to make sense of right now.

All he could do was hope that Mettaton was alright.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: hey guys I am so sorry for the wait. I actually forgot to update this fic everywhere but AO3 lol.

anyway, you've probably noticed that I changed the title of this fic! I'd come up with the old name back when this story was supposed to be just a romance, and now that I've decided to tackle traumas with it, I thought it needed a revamp. I feel like this title encompasses the nature of this story better than the old one, as you can relate it to both the effects of trauma (building walls around your heart to protect yourself) and romance (taking those walls down and letting yourself trust and love again).

now for this chapter! you guys get a soft one this time, not much happens in terms of action but some important things get touched on, and you now see a little bit of how Asgore and Mettaton feel about each other.

I hope you all enjoyed this! next chapter should be a little more interesting, and that's all I'm gonna say on that for now.


	9. Help

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 9 – Help (I Don't Need Somebody)_

"Alphys, are you sure there isn't a spell or something that would help with this?"

Mettaton was having one of his biweekly body checkups with Alphys in her homemade lab in their apartment. He was sitting on an examination table, all sorts of wires hooked up to his chest, extending from machines set in the wall meant to monitor his circuitry, oil level, and battery power, among other things. His overall condition read STABLE.

Alphys was poring over blueprints, plans, and books. "Spells don't last forever, Mettaton," she replied. "And the kind you'd want wouldn't be too thorough, anyway. It'd make you water _resistant,_ at best. What you need, if you really want to be able to take showers and swim and get caught in the rain without dying, is water _proofing."_

Mettaton sighed and leaned back against the wall, wishing Alphys would finish already. These checkups were important, he knew, but they were also exhausting.

"Actually…" Alphys looked him over, then pulled another book off her shelf and flipped through it until she found the page she wanted. "A spell for water resistance probably wouldn't be a bad idea as a temporary safety precaution until I can make you entirely waterproof… it'd need to be renewed every once in a while, and you wouldn't be able to submerge your torso in water, but your limbs would probably be pretty safe, and you wouldn't have to worry so much about spilling drinks."

"Whatever you think is best, darling. That sounds better than nothing."

"Right," Alphys said, snapping the book closed. "I'll bring this along with me to dinner tonight and have Asgore or Toriel perform the spell on you, since their magic will be the most powerful. And after that it'll probably be a good idea to have them renew it every couple of weeks. They shouldn't mind, it's not a difficult spell and it doesn't take much energy."

"Perfect. Are we done, then?" Mettaton asked hopefully.

"Yeah, sorry that took so long. I still have no idea where the original blueprints for your body went," admitted Alphys as she unplugged him from her machines. "It'd be useful to reference them sometimes. I guess it's a good thing I used to look at them so often, and that we have these checkups so I can reproduce them. Probably should have had copies made in the first place…"

Mettaton started. "My blueprints are missing?"

Alphys went red. "Didn't I tell you…? It was when you first went off on tour. I thought you'd taken them with you in case someone needed to fix you, but when I called, you said you hadn't. I thought then I must have just misplaced them, but I haven't found a single page since. I don't know what happened."

Mettaton vaguely recalled that phone call now. He'd been very busy at the time, so he hadn't been particularly concerned, figuring, like Alphys, that she had just misplaced them.

But now they'd been missing for _four months?_

"That's so strange," Mettaton said. "They didn't blow out a window, did they?"

"I really don't know." Alphys shrugged. "I just know that they're gone."

"Well, then. I guess there isn't much to be done about that," sighed Mettaton, getting off the table. "Where's Blooky?"

"They were in their room in a video call with Shyren last I saw," answered Alphys, gathering all her papers and books in a messy pile and leaving it on her workbench.

"A video call? Really?" Mettaton was impressed; usually Napstablook was too shy to even text anyone other than Mettaton. But then, Shyren was an old friend.

Napstablook was just finishing up the call when Mettaton came into their room. "Oh, Mettaton," they said, smiling a little. "Did you want to say hi…?"

Mettaton waved at the camera. "Hi, Shyren, sweetie! How have you been? I haven't seen you since we got back last weekend!"

"Oh, hello!" Shyren squeaked almost inaudibly. "I-I-I've been doing well, I think. Just w-working on music with Nappie…"

"That's wonderful, darling, I can't wait to hear it. Anyway, we've got to be going, Blooky, we're expected at dinner in half an hour."

"Oh… okay." Napstablook sounded almost disappointed to stop talking to Shyren. "Bye."

"Bye, Nappie."

Mettaton couldn't help but grin after Napstablook shut down their computer. "Nappie, huh?"

A gray blush crept up the ghost's face. "That's her nickname for me…"

"I know. You know what else, I think you like her."

The blush grew deeper. "No… no I don't…"

"You totally do." Mettaton poked Napstablook's jellylike body where their stomach would be. "And I bet she likes you, too."

Napstablook kept blushing all the way out to Mettaton's car. Alphys groaned when she noticed. "Mettaton, what did you do?"

"I did nothing," Mettaton retorted, pretending to take offense. "Only said it was obvious they like Shyren."

"She wants to have dinner sometime…" said Napstablook hopefully.

"Lucky you! You should arrange something soon. I can help with that," offered Mettaton. "I do hope you take this further. You deserve each other."

"Mettaton, y-you're embarrassing them," scolded Alphys. "You're gonna make them phase out of the car in a minute."

"Alright, I'm sorry. I just wanted to help," grumbled Mettaton.

"It's okay… I would like that a lot…" whispered Napstablook.

Mettaton beamed. "Then I will."

The drive over to Toriel and Frisk's was fairly quiet. Mettaton felt a bit apprehensive as he pulled into the driveway, remembering last Saturday, but he brushed it off. He and Undyne were on better terms now. He had nothing to worry about.

Toriel opened the front door for the three of them. Mettaton had never been sure what to think of her. He wasn't overly inclined to like her, considering how coolly she tended to treat Asgore, but her gentle smile, caring touches, and overall motherly demeanor was very comforting to him. It reminded him of someone he'd known a long time ago.

"Everyone is out back. Frisk is in the pool," said Toriel as she took them back to the kitchen. "I think Undyne might be swimming too. And Asgore is grilling hamburgers and hot dogs on the deck. We cooked all of the food here at home today," she added. "So it is all fairly simple, you needn't worry if you did not bring anything. Baked beans, summer salad, Frisk wanted macaroni and cheese. And I also cooked some asparagus and bought lots of ice cream for dessert."

So today was a cookout day. Mettaton smiled. "It sounds wonderful. Do you need help with anything?"

"Not at all. Please, go say hello to Frisk if you like," Toriel urged him.

"Let's not get wet, Mettaton," Alphys warned. "Oh hey, that actually reminds me. Toriel, can I t-talk to you about something? It's about Mettaton, see, I've been having troubles trying to waterproof him…"

Mettaton stopped listening as he opened the back door, only to bump into none other than Papyrus the skeleton, who blushed orange when he realized who it was.

Mettaton smiled winningly. "We really have to stop meeting like this, darling."

Papyrus laughed weakly. "Yes, well… I have to use the bathroom! Excuse me, please," he declared loudly, brushing past the robot.

Mettaton watched him go amusedly. _What a funny person. Can skeletons even…? Never mind, I don't want to know that._

He continued on his way outside and waved to Frisk, who was splashing around in the pool with Undyne as Toriel had said. Upon seeing him, the child quickly swam to the edge, got out, shook themselves a bit, and ran to the gate to go hug him.

"Ah, you're wet, go dry off, _go dry off!"_ Mettaton panicked as Frisk almost caught him. "I can't get water on me!"

Pouting slightly, Frisk grabbed a towel and dried off thoroughly before finally throwing their arms around Mettaton.

Meanwhile, Undyne had heaved herself out of the pool and grabbed her own towel. She rubbed violently at her head with it, then flipped her long, red, now-tangled hair over her shoulders and nodded at Mettaton. "Hey, Metal Butt."

"Hello, Undies," Mettaton shot back without thinking. He hoped this wouldn't mean another fight between them.

But Undyne just rolled her eyes and continued up the stairs to the deck. "Hey, where'd Papyrus go? Nerd said he was gonna join us like ten minutes ago."

"He said he had to use the bathroom," said Mettaton.

Undyne made a face. "Skeletons can't use the bathroom. Can they…? Never mind, I don't wanna know that."

"Dinner will be ready quite soon anyway, Undyne. I believe it would be best to clean up the pool now," Asgore called from his position at the grill.

Undyne went over to him and leaned on his arm, staring at the sizzling meat. "How are they comin', Goat Daddy?" she asked jokingly, but with an underlying daughterly affection that no one could miss.

Suddenly Mettaton was very jealous. Asgore was _his_ friend, _his_ mentor, practically his parent—and for some reason, he did not like the idea of Asgore sharing that role with anyone else, especially _Undyne_ of all people.

 _Calm down, Tonnie,_ he scolded himself. _You don't own Asgore, he can have other friends, he's_ bound _to in fact, he was the king, after all._

 _But I wish he'd only pay attention to me…_

"Well. You two seem to know each other pretty well!" Mettaton said out loud, trying to sound nonthreatening.

"Yeah, dude trained me for the Royal Guard after ol' Gerson had me a few years," Undyne replied, not missing the slight hostility radiating off Mettaton. "He's basically a second father to me. And judging by your face, I'm not the only person he means that much to. How do _you_ know him, anyway?"

"When you're the biggest star in the area, you make excellent contacts." Mettaton's voice was haughty. "He invited me over for tea. We kept talking, and I found him to be a person worthy of my trust and friendship."

"I am standing right here, you know," chuckled Asgore as he flipped a few burgers. "Please, don't fight over an old goat. I am glad that you think so highly of me, but I assure you, there is more than enough of me for both of you."

He'd hit the nail right on the head and guessed exactly what Mettaton's problem was. Mettaton hoped his face wasn't burning red. "Of course. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

Fortunately for him, the conversation was cut off by Papyrus coming back onto the deck.

"Pap!" Undyne stopped leaning against Asgore and threw an arm around the skeleton's shoulders. "You said you were gonna come swim!"

"Yes, well, I, uh, I had to—use the bathroom!" Papyrus stuttered, staring over at Mettaton, who threw him a smile.

"Yeah, Mettaton said. I'm not gonna ask how that works."

"Good! It is a long and arduous process—"

"Pap, no offense, but I really don't want to know."

"Right, sorry. I, uh—" Papyrus looked around, trying to avoid Mettaton's eyes. "What are you doing now?"

"Oh, the usual. Just bullying Mettaton."

"Oh, well, in that case, I'll leave you to it and help with dinner!" Papyrus shrugged off Undyne's arm and tried to escape.

"Honey, you don't have to be like that," Mettaton said smoothly. "All nervous and jumpy. I'm part of the family now, you don't have to worry about impressing me. I'd love to talk to you."

"O-oh! I guess I'll stay, then." Papyrus was actually more nervous now than he was before, but he managed to quash it down.

"Ugh. No offense, but I'm not gonna stick around for a Mettaton praise-fest. Say, where's that punk brother of yours?" Undyne looped her arm around Papyrus's neck and noogied him hard. "I've got a _bone_ to pick with him, he pulled that stupid whoopie-cushion-in-the-hand trick on me the other day."

"He's just coming over here—" Papyrus pointed to Sans heaving himself up the deck stairs. "—now enough with the puns and noogies, please!"

"Cool. Thanks. Don't kill him with your nonexistent charm." She directed the last part at Mettaton as she went to the other side of the deck.

 _Hmph. 'Nonexistent.' Right,_ Mettaton thought. "So!" he said brightly. "Papyrus, right?"

Papyrus nodded. _He remembers my name!_

"I've heard a fair bit about you," Mettaton continued. "I'm guessing this is the 'battle body' Alphys told me about?"

Papyrus glanced down at his outfit—the one he usually wore—and felt his soul twist in horror as he realized how childish he must look and sound. How could he have thought of wearing such an outfit when he knew Mettaton was going to be here?

"Oh—yes—but I don't call it that anymore," he lied. "And I really only wear it because—because—Frisk and Flowey like it."

"Liar," said a voice somewhere near Papyrus's foot. Flowey had popped up between the deck slats. He turned to Mettaton. "He wears it 'cause he likes it. And he's been wearing it since before we even came to the surface."

"Flowey!" Papyrus's face was bright orange.

"Shouldn't lie, it's not nice," the flower teased before disappearing again.

"Well, he's quite the little snitch, isn't he?" Mettaton said almost boredly. "But you don't have to lie to me, you know. I've always thought a person's true self is when they're most beautiful, so I don't judge. Your outfit choices may be… unorthodox, but it's you, so what's the issue?"

Papyrus played with the end of his scarf almost shyly. "I don't know, some people do seem to think I'm funny for it…"

Mettaton waved his hand. "Not to be cliché, but sometimes you really just have to ignore the haters and show them you don't care. I've done it many times."

"You? _You_ have haters?" cried Papyrus incredulously. "Inconceivable! You're far too great for that!"

"I know, darling, I know. But humans can be so _petty."_ Mettaton rolled his eyes. "Some say I'm too feminine. Like, sorry for enjoying dresses and makeup and manicures and still feeling secure in my identity as a man? Ugh."

"You shouldn't be sorry! I don't understand what the problem is at all." Papyrus was highly indignant.

"Oh, I'm not _actually_ sorry, darling. That's the joke. They _want_ me to be sorry, but I won't be, so they refuse to watch anything I do or listen to anything I say, except to make fun of me." Mettaton tossed his hair over his shoulder. "But I really don't care. I have too many fans to feel too terribly about it."

"Oh…" Despite Mettaton's words, Papyrus caught a very sour look in the robot's black eyes. He suddenly remembered some of the things Asgore had told him about how hard it could be to be a celebrity. Perhaps these "haters" were another problem the goat monster hadn't mentioned. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt? Someone—someone told me you've seemed rather down lately… unless you have another issue…"

"What?" Mettaton got a very funny look on his face, like he was trying not to panic.

 _That's ridiculous, Mettaton doesn't panic…_

"I mean—" Papyrus tried to amend his words. "Someone said you've been in low spirits, I didn't believe them at first, but maybe—maybe you are? Maybe I can help? You can tell me anything," he urged.

Mettaton was definitely looking uneasy. "I'm fine, thank you."

But Papyrus just wanted to help. "Maybe it's not people hating you, then? Is it something else? Maybe…" What was it Asgore had said? "I've been told that some celebrities have terrible pasts, so I looked some up and I did find some things that were hard to read about… were you abused as a child? Maybe you can—"

Suddenly monsters were rounding on Papyrus from all sides. Undyne, Sans, and Asgore had all been listening in on his and Mettaton's conversation.

"Bro, you can't just ask someone something like that!" Sans scolded him.

"Yeah, Jesus, dude, what the heck were you thinking?" Undyne's eyes were wide.

"Such questions are highly inappropriate, Papyrus," Asgore admonished gently. "Please apologize to Mettaton."

"Oh—oh, I'm sorry, Mettaton, I didn't realize—I didn't know that was wrong to ask. I just wanted to help. I'm sorry." Papyrus's voice dropped to a mumble by his last sentence. He could tell just by Mettaton's face—the colorless cheeks, the unfocused eyes, the way he bit his lip—that he had really asked something terrible.

"It's fine," Mettaton mouthed breathlessly. Then he cleared his throat and seemed to recover almost instantly. "It's fine," he said again, trying to smile. "You didn't know it was bad to ask, I don't—I don't blame you."

Papyrus wasn't convinced at all. "I'm going inside," he said abruptly, and did so.

Sans and Undyne turned back to Mettaton. "Sorry about that, Mettaton, he's not really good at using his internal filter, you know?" Sans explained.

"Yeah, he's always saying weird stuff, usually it's not that invasive, though…" Undyne said sheepishly.

Mettaton huffed. "You don't have to apologize for him, you know. He already said sorry, is that not enough?"

"I…" Sans put up his hands. "Okay."

"You seem rather upset, Mettaton. Are you sure you're alright?" Asgore asked gently.

"I'm fine," the robot repeated himself. In reality, he still felt a little shaky—Papyrus's question had been so on the nose… even though he _hated_ thinking about those memories in those terms…

"I'm going to go find him," Mettaton announced. "It's obvious he didn't mean any harm by it. I'll deal with it myself," he added as Undyne made a move to go with him. "I don't need your help. And I don't think he really does, either."

"I don't know, Mettaton… he's kinda… not the sharpest guy around. And I'm not saying that as an insult, it's just fact. He interprets things so weirdly." Undyne scratched the back of her head. "It might be better if someone was there who understands him, to help _him_ understand."

Sans nodded in agreement and offered to go with Mettaton instead.

Mettaton opened the back door and turned to meet the eyes of the other two monsters. "I'm sure he'll understand just fine if it's just me. This is between the two of us, so just leave it."

Meanwhile, Papyrus was in the front sitting room like last week, berating himself for screwing up yet again.

He didn't know how he'd gotten it into his head to ask such a stupid and invasive question—especially considering there were things in _his_ past that he didn't like to talk about. He should have known.

But he'd just let his mouth run, and now he'd probably totally ruined any chance of getting to know Mettaton.

The fact that everyone else had scolded him so hard for it was just making it worse. He'd even been made to apologize like a child. He felt stupider than ever.

Papyrus bit his fingers through his gloves until he could feel splintering pains shooting up the bone. _He must think I'm such a fool. Or a jerk._ Tears built up in his eye sockets. _I just wanted to help._

"Hey."

Papyrus jumped about a mile. His heart seemed to stop completely as he registered the robot standing in the doorway. "M-Mettaton! You—you—I, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking when I asked that, I realize it was insensitive. You don't have to tell me anything, or forgive me, or—" he cried, hiding his hands behind his back.

"Darling, it's alright." Mettaton's voice was much gentler than usual. "I mean—it wasn't _alright,_ but I'm glad you realize that. I know you were just trying to help. I forgive you."

Papyrus let out a sigh of relief, but he didn't feel better quite yet. "Oh. Well, thank you, then. B-But still, I understand if you don't want to hang out with me… I'm not… not very smart. And I'm too emotional for my own good…" he laughed weakly.

Mettaton vaguely recalled what Alphys had said last week about Papyrus getting excited and overwhelmed too easily, and Undyne's recent statement about his intelligence. Was Papyrus just parroting back what he'd heard from others?

More than ever, Mettaton was determined to learn what Papyrus was like, from Papyrus himself.

"I don't know. I think I'd be upset if I thought _I_ had upset one of my favorite celebrities, too," he said, hoping he sounded comforting. "And I don't think you've done anything to prove that you're of less-than-average intelligence."

"Really?" asked Papyrus hopefully.

"Really."

Papyrus shuffled his feet. "You're sure… you don't need help?"

Mettaton hunched his shoulders momentarily and relaxed again. "I'm sure."

Suddenly Undyne popped her head around the corner. "Dinner's ready, nerds."

"We're sorting something out right now!" Papyrus protested.

Undyne grabbed his arm, pulled him over to her, and threw him bodily over her shoulder. "Come on, you big goober. Let's eat, I'm hungry!"

Papyrus shrugged helplessly at Mettaton. Mettaton only smiled and followed them out to the deck.

Undyne dropped Papyrus at one end of the table and took a seat across from him. Papyrus was taken completely by surprise as Mettaton sat right next to him and called Napstablook to sit on his other side.

 _I can't believe it! After all that, he still wants to hang out with me!_

He bounced his leg excitedly as everyone else came to the table and food started getting passed around.

He'd have to do his best to ensure that this meal, and the rest of today, went perfectly.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: this chapter was post on ao3 about ten days ago haha whoops. I really need to stop forgetting I have an account here.

buuuuuuuuuut anyway we get skeleton/robot interactions again! Mettaton is already feeling a strange sort of attraction to Papyrus, the skeleton is pretty different from anyone Mettaton's ever known. that said, the attraction isn't romantic just yet-it's just like when you meet a new person in your college class and you kinda fall into friendship pretty fast.

poor Papyrus is feeling more and more beaten down by how everyone is treating him. and poor Mettaton wishes everyone would stop worrying about him... even though there's quite a bit to worry about.

(also yes my Papyrus is orange. I know some people consider blue to be more canon or whatever but I just really like orange Papyrus ok)

anyway I hope you all enjoyed that! the dinner will continue next chapter and I think it'll be a more lighthearted chapter than we've been seeing.

thanks for reviews, follows, and faves! I appreciate every one 3


	10. Learning

_**Trigger warning: drug use.**_

 _Chapter 10 – Getting to Know You_

Like last week, dinner was a fairly uneventful but delicious affair. Mettaton had never had a full-fat hot dog before, and it had been a long time since he had had good homecooked baked beans and asparagus (actually, he couldn't remember if he'd ever had either of them).

Papyrus refused to eat any hot dogs after watching the grease drip off one of them. Instead, he took a burger and lay it on his plate. But rather than putting it on a bun and adding the other ingredients to make a hamburger, he cut it up with his knife and spread butter on the bun.

"What are you doing?" asked Mettaton curiously.

Papyrus blushed slightly. "Oh—I don't like eating with my hands. It's very messy, you see. So—so I just use my utensils instead."

"Oh, I'm not judging. I'd actually eat it the same way as you, honestly, but—" Mettaton pointed to his hot dog in its bun and grinned. "This tastes really good this way."

"He eats _everything_ that way," Undyne broke in. "I don't know how he does it. It just seems like a lot more work to me."

"It seems like a lot more work to _me_ to clean up your hands after you're done," Papyrus retorted, stabbing his meat with his fork defiantly.

"Is that a challenge, punk?"

"Not everything needs to be a competition, Undyne!" Alphys scolded, but she was laughing. "Let Papyrus be weird in peace."

"Yes, I—hey!" Papyrus glared at Alphys.

"I'm kidding!"

"Hey, Pap, you should tell everyone your big news," Sans interrupted around a mouthful of beans.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Sans. But yes, I suppose I should." Papyrus puffed up his chest importantly. "I've been promoted at work!"

Instantly, everyone was fawning over him. "That's fantastic news, Papyrus, dear!" cried Toriel. "What position does that give you now?"

"I'm the manager of my division! I have a lot of people under me now," answered Papyrus proudly. "And I shall strive to be the best and fairest manager they've ever had!"

"What is it you do, Papyrus?" Mettaton asked.

Papyrus seemed to shrink, his confident attitude suddenly turning into shyness. "I work at a factory. We make books of word puzzles."

"Oh, so do you like puzzles, then?" Mettaton smiled.

Papyrus's face lit up. "Yes! I like them a lot, I'd build them all the time if the humans didn't think it was annoying."

Mettaton nodded. "They can be a bit of a bother. But word puzzles are fun. I'm glad you're working with something you enjoy, that's the most anyone could hope for, I think."

Papyrus shrugged and blushed. "Well, the intellectual stimulation that word puzzles bring is good, but it's really nothing compared to the happiness that you bring to everyone."

Most of the others at the table gave each other strange looks. Never in their lives had they ever seen or heard Papyrus dumb himself down in front of someone else.

That hadn't escaped Mettaton's notice either. "Oh, honey, don't say that," he said in genuine protestation. "Your work means a lot to people who care about puzzles. My work is fabulous, certainly, but you don't have to trivialize your own to recognize that."

Papyrus wasn't sure what to say to that, so he continued to eat his dinner without responding except to smile slightly.

Toriel broke the silence. "Well, I wish I'd known earlier about your promotion. I would have gone out and bought a cake or some other treat to celebrate."

"A cake would have been lovely," Papyrus agreed without thinking.

"I think this is a pretty good celebration already, Tori," said Sans, hoping she wouldn't notice his brother's slight rudeness. "We appreciate it."

The table fell silent except for the sound of utensils and glasses clinking against plates. Papyrus suddenly seemed very focused on his food, and he began humming absentmindedly as he ate.

"What song is that?" asked Mettaton.

Papyrus swallowed quickly and coughed slightly. "Oh, it's—it's nothing special, just a song. I, um—I don't like hearing other people chew their food," he admitted, his voice trailing into a mumble.

The skeleton seemed so shy and self-depreciative around Mettaton, and Mettaton didn't have the first clue how to help him stop. He'd tried simple conversation, he'd even reassured him and told him he shouldn't do that—but Papyrus seemed to stick with this weird attitude.

Well, there couldn't be any harm in continuing to talk to him. He had to get more comfortable sometime. Right?

"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with that," Mettaton said nonchalantly, spearing some asparagus on his fork. "I'd do it too if that bothered me."

Papyrus smiled slightly; he'd never heard his odd mannerisms be so openly accepted before. No one was ever rude to his face about it, but he'd heard whispers. Having Mettaton's open approval was already making him feel a little better about it. He tentatively went back to eating and humming.

Eventually the meal was finished, and Frisk helped Toriel bring up some ice cream from the basement refrigerator. Everyone scooped out what they wanted—Toriel had to stop Flowey from sneaking a whole carton under the table. Most of them ate fun flavors like chocolate fudge brownie, black raspberry, peanut butter, or cake batter, but Papyrus just had vanilla, claiming he didn't like the mushy brownie chunks or peanut butter and that the other flavors were too sweet.

As usual, everyone helped clean up and put leftovers away. Papyrus offered to rinse off the dishes, but turned almost beet-red when Mettaton said he would help him. The skeleton then claimed that someone had to clean off the grill and rushed outside to do it.

Mettaton stared after him in frustration. Had he done something to spook Papyrus? But all he'd done was speak to him and try to be nice.

"Dude, what did you say to him back there?" asked Undyne, slamming the refrigerator door closed. "He's acting awful weird. Well, weirder than usual. He's usually pretty full of himself." She narrowed her eyes.

"I just told him I forgave him, and that he needn't worry about it anymore!" Mettaton defended himself. "A lot of good _that_ did, I guess."

"Forgave him? For what?" Toriel asked, looking up from the dishwasher.

"Just said something he shouldn't have. But what else is new," Undyne answered dismissively. "Anyway," she added, turning back to Mettaton suspiciously, "if I find out you said anything bad to him, you're in deep trouble."

"Alright, enough of that, you two," Asgore admonished, handing Toriel a dirty plate. "Undoubtedly Papyrus is simply nervous. I mean, we _do_ have a celebrity in our midst, after all."

Mettaton beamed, and Undyne rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Mettaton, I wouldn't take Papyrus's behavior personally," Alphys advised. "That's just the way he is."

Lulu snapped some leftover macaroni into a plastic container. "Someone oughtta go out there and make sure he's doing the job right," she said, glancing out the back door. "We don't want him accidentally flipping something on and burning down the place."

"I'll do it," Mettaton offered, and before anyone could protest, he had headed out back.

Papyrus didn't even look up when he heard the door slide open; he knew someone had come out to check on him. He scraped the wire brush against the grill's tray and tried not to sound exasperated. "Everything's going fine, you can just—"

"It's just me, honey," replied Mettaton, sitting on the end of the picnic table next to the grill.

Papyrus's head snapped up at the sound of the robot's voice. He swallowed and focused back on his work, saying nothing.

Mettaton watched him passively for a minute before speaking again. "So… Papyrus… I've heard quite a bit about you."

"You-you have?" Papyrus blinked rapidly. They'd been talking about him? Well, that wasn't _really_ surprising.

"Well, I still don't really know that much," Mettaton admitted. "But I recall someone telling me that you're my biggest fan."

"I do like your shows a lot," mumbled Papyrus.

Mettaton smiled. "I'd love to know what you find so fascinating about me. Other than the obvious, I mean."

"Well…" Papyrus could feel himself getting excited, but he tried to think carefully and keep his voice steady. "I think you're a very inspirational person, you just came out of nowhere and became the biggest star in the Underground, beloved by everyone, almost immediately! And you always stress the importance of loving and believing in yourself, and you never seem to judge anyone for anything. And—and you also really seemed to believe in _other_ people, too. And—I don't know. I just think you're a very nice person. And it shows on the outside, I think you're very—" He blushed and broke off.

"You think I'm very what?"

Papyrus inhaled. "Handsome."

Mettaton laughed lightly. "Well, darling, you're not the first. Most people would agree I'm very pleasing to look at."

Papyrus ducked behind the grill cover to hide his grin and scrubbed hard at another section of the tray. "I certainly appreciate your appearance. And your skills!" He looked up briefly and beamed at Mettaton. "I was going to try and cook like you, but Undyne suggested I take lessons with her instead, since she lives nearby, and I could come see her. And then a few weeks ago, Sans made me sign up for cooking lessons at the community center." He realized he was babbling, and he quickly shut his jaw.

"No, go on, darling. I do remember hearing something like that last week."

Papyrus shrugged. "You don't want to hear me talk. I'm certain that you are far more interesting than I am."

There it was again—that strange, apparently out-of-character modesty. No, not modesty—Papyrus was straight up putting himself down. And it didn't make Mettaton happy.

"Not to be blunt, honey, but I think you're wrong," the robot protested. "We're all interesting in our own way. And I'd love to know what makes _you_ interesting."

"O-Oh… um, well…" Papyrus closed the grill and hung the brush on a hook on the side. He tried to gather up all the characteristics of himself, real or fabricated, that he thought usually got people to like him. "What would you like to hear about?"

Mettaton shrugged. "Well, you said you work at a puzzle-book factory, and you like puzzles—what else do you like?"

Papyrus floundered, unsure what answer Mettaton was looking for. "I, um… what do _you_ like?" he countered, hoping Mettaton's answer would help him out.

But Mettaton shook his head. "Oh, no, Papyrus. _I'm_ asking the questions right now, and I'm asking about _you."_

Papyrus huffed. "Okay. Well, I really like… spaghetti."

"Do you now?" Mettaton crossed his legs.

"Yes, I, uh… spaghetti! It's my favorite food. I'd—I'd eat it every day if I could. And I love cooking it, and other people like it, too—although they almost never leave room for it…" Papyrus trailed off uncertainly.

Mettaton gave him a searching look. "I don't think I believe you."

Papyrus was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Mettaton put his hands up. "Alright, alright, let me rephrase. I believe you like cooking it for people—Alphys told me as much. But I don't think it's your favorite food."

"How would you know that?" Papyrus demanded, crossing his arms.

"If it were _really_ your favorite, and you _really_ wanted to eat it every day, you would've had some last week, when you brought some for dinner. But I know you didn't."

Papyrus froze, then laughed sheepishly. "Wowie, you have quite the memory!" Then he sighed and sat in a deck chair across from Mettaton. "I suppose there's no hiding it now—you're right. Spaghetti isn't my favorite food, I've never even had any."

Mettaton blinked. "You—you haven't _ever_ had spaghetti? But—but don't you taste it before you serve it to people?"

"No…" Papyrus's leg started bouncing rapidly. "Why would I do that? The food is for my guests and friends, not for me."

"Yes, but—normally you taste it before you serve it, so you can be sure that it's edible…" Mettaton was a bit lost for words; taste-testing food was a basic tenet of cooking.

Then again, Papyrus _had_ had Undyne for a teacher for who knows how long.

"Well, it's not _massively_ important, I guess. Anyway," Mettaton moved on swiftly, "what is your favorite food, then?"

Papyrus opened his mouth slightly, then closed it.

"You know, honey," Mettaton said, leaning forward a bit, "you said you thought I seemed to be unjudgmental. If you really think that, then you don't need to be afraid to tell the truth."

Papyrus supposed his logic was sound. "Well, alright. I really like… this kind of oatmeal, it has these sugary little eggs in it, and when you heat it up, the eggs hatch into dinosaurs." He looked up at Mettaton almost shyly.

Mettaton smiled. "Really? I've never heard of that. But then, I haven't had oatmeal before. But it sounds clever and cute."

"You've never had oatmeal before?" cried Papyrus incredulously, without thinking. "You're missing out very much! I will have to give you a packet or two sometime."

"That sounds lovely, darling. I don't know if I'll have time to make it, though. I'm a very busy robot, you see," said Mettaton, picking a spot off his glove.

"Oh, yes, of course," Papyrus agreed. "You do an awful lot."

"M-hm, yes." Mettaton brushed off his pants and leaned forward again, resting his chin on his hands. "So. You said earlier you think I'm handsome."

Papyrus raised a hand to his mouth to bite down on it, but then he remembered where he was and instead scratched his skull. "Yes…"

"Am I just aesthetically pleasing, or am I someone you'd like to date? I'm teasing, darling, I'm teasing!" Mettaton added, laughing, as Papyrus turned orange. "But really, what kind of people are you into? I'm personally into tall, blond, eyes like the ocean—strong and handsome—y-you know?" His voice wavered as he realized he was describing Devon. He cleared his throat and willed the image out of his mind. "Though… you're not bad-looking, yourself."

Papyrus blushed. "Thank you. I shine my skull and brush my teeth every day! And of course I take a run every morning to keep fit, and eat healthy, and take lots of showers. It's really no wonder that my hard work would pay off in good looks," he boasted as he puffed out his chest. Then he deflated slightly as he realized he was babbling again. "Of course, it's still nothing on you."

But Mettaton was smiling. Boasting, talkative Papyrus seemed to be what everyone else was used to, and the robot was glad to experience it, even for a second. He shook his head. "You look fine regardless of who you're comparing yourself to. Don't short-sell yourself."

"Oh, o-okay." Papyrus tapped his foot and looked away. Why did he feel so _nervous?_ Mettaton was being nice to him. "Oh! You—you asked—what's my type—?" The skeleton racked his brains, but he was coming up short. He'd never really genuinely liked many people in that way, and the few people he had liked only had one common characteristic. "Um… I guess… male?"

 _Wowie, Papyrus, that's probably the stupidest answer you've ever given someone,_ the skeleton thought as soon as he'd said it.

But Mettaton just laughed—an actual, genuine, out-loud laugh that wasn't glamorous at all. He clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh, goodness! I'm sorry, Papyrus, I didn't mean to subject you to that awful snorting… but that's funny. I prefer men, too."

"Oh, really?" Papyrus brightened. In the Underground, liking other men had never really been an issue, but up on the surface things were tricky. Humans were far more accepting of same-gender relationships than they used to be, but you could never be sure who was supportive and who wasn't, and Papyrus often just kept his sexuality on the down-low for safety. Knowing that his favorite celebrity was also gay was helping him feel a little better about it, though.

"Really." Mettaton beamed. "Not that women aren't beautiful in their own way—I just don't want to date them."

Papyrus nodded. Then he looked past Mettaton into the backyard, then slowly into his eyes. "I think your laugh is beautiful."

Mettaton blushed this time. "Thank you, but you don't have to lie. It's an awful snorting mess, I know."

Papyrus smiled. "A certain someone was just telling me earlier that they thought a person was most beautiful when they were being their true self."

"I guess I did say that, didn't I?" Mettaton brushed his hair back. "Still…"

Papyrus shook his head. "It's a wonderful laugh. I should like to hear it more often."

Mettaton saw nothing but sincerity in Papyrus's face. He wondered how the skeleton could be so shy and reticent about himself in front of the robot, but so bold and honest when it came to complimenting him.

He smiled. "Thank you, darling."

At that moment, the sliding glass door opened, and Undyne stuck her head out. "What are you guys doing out here?"

"Conversing," Mettaton said, as Papyrus replied, "Just talking," at the same instant.

Undyne blinked slowly and sighed. "Did you finish with the grill, Pap?"

"Of course I did," Papyrus said almost defensively. "I wouldn't loaf around if the job wasn't done."

Undyne stepped out to open the grill and check Papyrus's work. The skeleton huffed slightly. "I did _fine._ You don't have to make sure I did it right, I am not a small child."

"Uh—okay, dude." Undyne closed the grill and gave Papyrus an odd look. "Well, you two should get your butts back in there. Asgore's making tea, we're gonna relax for a little bit, and then we're all gonna get going. And don't forget, you and me? Sparring practice tomorrow," she added, clapping a hand on Papyrus's skull as she walked by.

"I could never forget. We've done it every Sunday for the past year," said Papyrus as she slammed the door closed.

"You know, I've kind of wondered since last week," Mettaton mused. "How did you get to be friends with Undyne? She seems very fond of you."

"Oh, she was the Captain of the Royal Guard for years," Papyrus explained. "I trained under her until we left the Underground. Interestingly, most of our lessons actually involved cooking, at least toward the end." A strange look came over his face. "That's—that's kind of odd, isn't it? I never did see the other Guards cooking on the job..."

Mettaton had to agree; he didn't know much about the Guard, but cooking didn't sound at all like something the members would do. He wondered what had motivated Undyne to teach Papyrus so much cooking—especially since she seemed to be a poor teacher in that regard. "Did you ever make the Guard?"

Papyrus shook his head sadly. "No. Every time I asked if I would be inducted soon, she said I needed more experience as a sentry, or more cooking lessons. And then the Guard disbanded when we got up here." He brightened. "But Undyne makes sure I keep up my fighting skills! Do you like sparring?"

Mettaton chuckled. "Can't say I do, honey. It would get in the way of everything else I do, and besides, it takes up an awful lot of battery power. But," he said, standing up and stretching, "don't underestimate me. I'm more than capable of kicking butt in a fight if I need to."

Papyrus very much looked as though he'd like to watch Mettaton kick somebody's butt. "I bet! You're good at _everything."_

Mettaton shrugged. "I do my best," he replied, his modesty mostly false, but a tiny part of him was really telling the truth. His best was really the only thing he could do, after all.

Undyne poked her head out the door again. "Hey, lovebirds. Get in here already."

"We are _not_ lovebirds," Mettaton snapped hotly, so much so that Papyrus felt a little bad.

"Whatever, buttface, I'm kidding. Everyone's waiting." Undyne left the door open for them.

Mettaton looked toward Papyrus, who still sat in his deck chair. "Well?"

Papyrus tried to get up quickly, then fell back with a cry of pain. He put a hand to his spine near the base.

"Are you alright?" Mettaton reached his hands out to Papyrus, genuinely worried.

"I'm—I'm fine. I think I just—got up too fast and twisted my spine a bit," Papyrus lied. Well, partially lied. He'd definitely gotten up too fast after sitting for a while, but he hadn't _twisted_ his spine—he'd aggravated some of the fractures in it. But he wasn't going to explain to his favorite celebrity that he had such ugly imperfections all over him.

Mettaton still held a hand out, and after some deliberation, Papyrus slowly took it, standing up much more carefully this time. He straightened completely, despite the pressure it put on his lower vertebrae.

"Thanks," he said quietly, embarrassed about the episode.

"You sure everything is alright?"

"Yes, I—I'm fine. I don't need any more help, thank you." Papyrus quickly got past Mettaton and stopped in front of the doorway. He gestured to let the robot go first.

"Thanks, darling," said Mettaton, giving Papyrus one last puzzled and concerned look as he passed him.

Inside, everyone had assembled in the living room with their cups of tea. Asgore passed a couple more mugs, still steaming hot, to Papyrus and Mettaton. Mettaton sat down to converse with the others, as Papyrus stood stiffly next to the couch, hoping nobody would notice his discomfort.

Sans noticed.

The rest of the evening passed, the monsters conversing and laughing with each other gaily until nearly eight o'clock. Then hugs were given and goodbyes said.

Papyrus blushed for about the sixth time that night when Mettaton waved at him as he left. He was still a bit orange in the face as he got into his car with Sans.

Sans didn't waste any time. "Did you hurt yourself again?"

Papyrus sighed. "I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Papyrus put the car into reverse. "I sat down for a while as I was talking to Mettaton and then I got up too fast. I probably just strained my spine a bit."

Sans shook his head. "You have to be more careful."

"Brother, I am _fine._ I'll just take some medicine when I get home." Papyrus backed out the driveway, switched gears, and began driving home.

"Didn't you take some before we left?"

Papyrus was so startled that he almost hit the brakes. "What makes you think that?"

"You were in the bathroom and I saw you swallow something." Sans raised a browbone. "I know I'm not imagining things."

"I—I—alright, I took something earlier. But it was just a multivitamin."

"You take those at breakfast. And I didn't realize we kept multivitamins in the bathroom cabinet."

"Oh—mind your own business, Sans! _I haven't had any pain medication today._ And I'm going to take some when we get home." Papyrus figured at this rate, he'd need it by the time they got home. He hated lying to Sans; it made him feel horrendously anxious and dirty. But the medication always made him feel calm and light, like he didn't have a care in the world.

Sans sighed. "Alright, Papyrus. I'm just trying to take care of my baby bro."

"I'm not a baby, Sans," snapped Papyrus angrily. "Just let me be."

Sans said nothing, his face blank for the rest of the short ride home.

As soon as he got inside, Papyrus rushed to the upstairs bathroom and swallowed four pills, sitting back against the wall and willing himself not to throw them back up.

He knew that he'd really hurt Sans, even if his brother kept his feelings deeply hidden. "Baby bro" was usually nothing more than just an affectionate nickname, as far as Papyrus knew; Sans didn't _really_ see him as a baby.

But during times like these, when Papyrus was just trying to live his life only for others to impede him, the nickname _hurt,_ and he just had been in too much pain and panic to hide it this time.

 _Don't think about Sans,_ he told himself. _Think about Mettaton. He was so nice today._

Mettaton…

What a robot. What a fantastic guy. Papyrus could tell the pills were already working; his thoughts were becoming happy and dreamy. _Mettaton…_ Mettaton had been _so_ nice to him—and after he'd asked that stupid, invasive question too. Papyrus replayed the conversation he'd had with Mettaton in his mind. Every look Mettaton had given him, every tilt of his head, every time he had shown genuine interest in who Papyrus was—it was all locked into the skeleton's mind.

Papyrus made his way to his room and collapsed on his bed, picking up his teddy bear and hugging it, grinning and even giggling uncontrollably.

He'd only dreamed of getting to see Mettaton in person, and now he'd met the robot twice—even better, Mettaton was part of the _family._ Never in his life had he dared to imagine that, or that Mettaton would be such a wonderful person to talk to.

Sure, Papyrus had said some stupid things, but Mettaton had just laughed and carried on as if things were normal. As if _Papyrus_ were normal.

None of his friends had ever done that before.

Papyrus settled back against his pillows and grinned.

For once, he actually felt good about himself.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: yayyyyyyyyy a new chapter, finally!

I had a LOT of writer's block trying to get this done. I think college is burning me out.

well, winter break is coming.

hope you enjoyed the boys having an awkward conversation! next chapter... will not be a very happy chapter.


	11. Blow After Blow (Part 1)

_**Trigger warnings:**_ ** _emotional manipulation/gaslighting, mild sexuality, self harm_**

 _Chapter 11 – Blow After Blow (Part 1)_

The pleasant weekend seemed to strengthen Mettaton's confidence on Monday. He hardly thought about Devon on the way to work that morning, and when he did, he hardly felt nervous.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he felt sure that today would be a good day.

His confidence wavered as he walked into the building and saw Devon waiting by the stairs, as usual. Then nausea wracked his stomach region as the man began walking over to him.

"Hey, Mettaton!" Devon greeted him in a very friendly voice as they met at the bottom of the steps.

Mettaton decided not to betray any fear if he could help it. He swallowed and replied, "Hello," rather flatly.

Devon didn't miss this, and his manner became awkward. "Um… I just wondered… you know what? Never mind."

"No, what is it." Mettaton didn't really frame it as a question, knowing that Devon would express what he wanted regardless of whether Mettaton wanted to hear it.

"I was wondering… would you maybe like to have lunch with me today? I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but…" Devon seemed uncomfortable, uncertain, but that could just be his good acting skills. "I think we really need to talk."

Anger began to mix in with Mettaton's fear. "What I need right now is not to be distracted," he responded hotly, mounting the stairs. "I have a lot of work to do. I don't know if I'll have time to sit down for lunch today. Now I'll thank you to leave me be."

"Mettaton, wait!" Devon reached up and grabbed Mettaton's hand. "Please."

Mettaton's eyes darted around in a panic. There were plenty of people around, some of whom were staring. Devon wouldn't do anything with all those witnesses. He forced himself to calm down and removed his hand from Devon's grasp, crossing his arms and waiting impatiently for the man to explain.

"Please, Mettaton, you know I care about you," Devon pleaded, his blue eyes glittering. He almost seemed tearful. "You don't know how sorry I am for hurting you. I just want to talk, nothing else, I promise."

Despite himself, Mettaton felt a little bad. He _had_ said he would think about being friends again… and just like last week, Devon _did_ seem genuinely sorry.

 _Things have to go back to normal eventually…_

"Fine," Mettaton sighed. "We can have lunch in the food court today. 12:30 sharp. Don't be late or I'll leave."

Devon's face lit up. "Thank you, Mettaton! I won't be late. I'll see you then." He looked like he wanted to touch Mettaton again, but instead he just smiled and turned to go his way.

Mettaton breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't happy to have to go to lunch with Devon later, but there would be plenty of people around. Nothing bad would happen. He'd be safe.

In the meantime, he was glad he'd gotten Devon off his back so easily.

Now it was time to work.

But before he'd gotten far, he was stopped by a familiar voice. "Mettaton! Mettaton, sir."

Mettaton turned to see his personal assistant. "Yes, Whetu, what is it?" he asked, trying to stay pleasant, though inside he was burning with impatience.

Whetu took a deep breath. "Mr. Glosmer called. He would like to see you in his office."

Mettaton stared. "Right now?"

"As soon as possible, he said."

"But I'm supposed to be shooting for my new show right now."

"He told me it's been put off."

"Put off—?" Mettaton sputtered. "You can't just _put off_ a new show like this, it's supposed to be the first day—well, whatever it is must be important, or he wouldn't have asked for me. Come on," he gestured with his head, "I'll need you to take note of whatever he says, and mark this meeting down in my calendar."

The two made their way to Richard Glosmer's office on the top floor of the building. Mettaton hardly even knocked before he went in, Whetu following meekly.

"Ah, Mettaton!" An older, gray-haired man in a black suit greeted him at the door. "And Mrs. Henare. Thank you for relaying my message to him as soon as you did. Now, if you would both sit…" Glosmer took a seat behind his desk while Mettaton and Whetu took the two chairs in front of it. Whetu pulled out a pen and paper and prepared to take notes.

"I do hope this was important, Richard. Rescheduling film shoots isn't easy business," Mettaton said smoothly. "And I'd like to get back to work as soon as possible."

Glosmer shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well… about that…"

Mettaton sat bolt upright. "What? You aren't _firing_ me, are you? You couldn't possibly do that."

"Oh, no, no, no! Not—not firing, no. Not at all," calmed Glosmer, pulling at his shirt collar. "Of course you'll still be working here. Just, um…" He sighed. "Mettaton… you are a highly valued, highly skilled worker here. Not a day goes by that those of us here at Auckland Film Studios aren't happy to have you here as an actor and performer."

"Yes," Mettaton said, tapping his foot impatiently.

Glosmer cleared his throat. "However… recently… the producers have noticed that the quality of your work has rather… decreased as of late."

Mettaton's only visible eye widened considerably, and Whetu looked extremely nervous.

"Now—now let me explain!" Glosmer put his hands up. "You haven't been doing poorly, by any means. Your work is still exceptional—most of it, that is. We've, ah, noticed, rather recently, that some of your work is a bit… lackluster, and your stunt work… well, last week was some of the… worst we've seen from you… again, not that it was terrible, just… not what we've come to expect from you."

Mettaton still said nothing, only continued to glare, wondering where on earth Glosmer was going with this. Whetu's pen stayed still on her still-blank piece of paper; she wasn't sure if Mettaton wanted any of this documented.

"Well, we've thought a lot about it…" Glosmer folded his hands in front of him. "We've concluded that it isn't because you're a bad actor. Obviously you aren't, we've come to expect quite a bit from you!" He smiled, hoping the robot would smile back. When he didn't, Glosmer cleared his throat again and continued. "That's why we're very concerned, you see. We received a call from someone—someone who wished to remain anonymous, saying you seemed very exhausted lately, and maybe we should go through your past work schedules to see how much you've been doing. So we did, and, well… we were astounded. We talked to your other places of work too—the fashion studio downtown, the recording studio, although you don't go there every week… Mettaton, with all your work combined, you've been pulling over one-hundred-hour work weeks almost every week since we started letting you act here. That's—that's far more than the legal number of hours we can make you work." For a second Glosmer's mouth hung open as he recalled this. "I—I truly don't know what to say. We're amazed that you've managed to last this long, and still do the exceptional work that you do."

"Yes, Richard, I'm amazing, I know. Now please get to the point." Mettaton was so impatient that he didn't even care to hear praise about himself.

"Yes—my point. My point is—" Glosmer drummed his fingers on the table anxiously. "The point is—we think that all this work has finally taken a toll on you, and that's why the quality of your work has dropped lately. And the thing is, Mettaton, we want you to be able to do your absolute best. And the only way you can do that is by getting proper rest." He sat back and closed his eyes, preparing for the storm. "So from now on, the studio is going to be limiting your work hours."

Mettaton was completely silent for a minute, processing what Glosmer meant. Whetu looked horrified, like she wanted to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Limiting… my work hours?" said Mettaton finally.

"Yes… to about eight hours a day. Not that you couldn't work overtime every once in a while—just not every day, like you've been doing," clarified Glosmer. "It's for your health, Mettaton. And, quite frankly… it will probably be more lucrative in the long run, as well. People will be more satisfied with your performances."

" _Lucrative._ Of course this is about the money." Mettaton's tone was like poison. "That's the only thing people like you care about. Of course you'd gladly ruin someone's life if it meant getting more money out of it."

"Now who said anything about ruining lives?" Glosmer sounded angry. "I keep saying, we just want you to be able to do your best! And you obviously need rest to do it. And if it happens to bring a little more money in—well, that's just a little more icing on the cake."

"This work is my life!" Mettaton shot to his feet. "You have _no_ idea what I've been through to get here, Richard—not one damn idea. I almost _died_ trying to achieve this dream, and if you think I'm going to give up because I'm a little tired—if you think I'm not going to fight this—"

"You can't fight it. It's already been decided. You will not work today. After this meeting, you will be escorted outside the premises, and if you don't comply—" Glosmer sighed. "Well, I don't think you'd risk assault or trespassing charges. We'd rather not risk them either. That might be grounds for firing you."

" _Firing_ me?" Mettaton slammed his hands down on the desk, nearly cracking the laminated wood. "Don't give me that crap, Richard. Like people in this industry don't get away with worse than that. Not that they should get away with anything." He leaned forward, sneering. "But I know you wouldn't get rid of me for that. If you really care about money so much, you can't _afford_ to."

"That is true… although we _were_ doing just fine before we took you on, and we'd probably do just fine without you," said Glosmer truthfully. "But as I said, we'd rather not lose you. And we won't. Because if _you_ care about _your work_ so much, _you_ can't afford to lose _us,_ either."

The man was right. Mettaton sat back down, feeling defeated. "So what does this mean for my new show?" he asked angrily.

"Ah, yes… your new drama. We'll be… postponing the premiere." Glosmer looked almost apologetic. "For at least a year. The producers have stretched out the filming schedule, and postponed that as well. It won't start until October."

"October?" Mettaton cried, sitting back up. "But—but it's barely July! That'll be four months without filming anything. Unless I can get a part in another production—"

"But you won't," interjected Glosmer. "Directors and producers have been instructed to leave you alone. You can try out all you want, but they won't be picking you. You've been working nonstop since you monsters came up here, and you need a long rest."

Mettaton clenched his jaw bitterly. It seemed that there was no way around this.

"It's in your best interests to listen to us, Mettaton," said Glosmer quietly. "I think you'll find that you feel much better with rest and a less busy schedule."

Mettaton didn't reply for a minute; he only stared at his knees, his expression unreadable. Then he looked up. "You're wrong, Richard." His voice was strangely calm. "But I see there's nothing I can do about it." He stood again. "Thank you for your time. Come on, Whetu."

He and Whetu left the room, leaving Glosmer staring after them uncertainly.

Whetu's dark eyes searched Mettaton anxiously as she closed the office door behind them. "Sir? Are… are you going to be alright?"

Mettaton leaned against the wall, eyes closed. "I don't know. I—I don't know. Just—" He looked at her and gave her an unexpected smile. "Well, if I'm not going to be working for the rest of the day, you shouldn't have to, either. Just mark down that meeting and what happened in it, and then clock out for the rest of the day. I'll make sure you get a full day's pay."

"Oh… thank you, sir." Whetu smiled back. Then she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know… maybe he's right. You need to rest and take care of yourself. _Their_ reasoning may be about money, but… the rest of us care about _you._ You could end up hurting yourself." She patted him gently. "I'd hate to lose you as a boss, you're easily the best I've ever had. I've always thought—well." She laughed slightly. "I've always thought outside the workplace, we could've been friends."

Mettaton laughed a little too, and put his hand over hers. "We can be friends now, Whetu. You've been good to me since the beginning. Thank you." He sighed. "You go ahead and finish up work. I'm not going to wait for anyone to escort me out."

"Alright, sir." Whetu began to walk away, then she turned back. "Just please take care of yourself."

"I'm trying."

Mettaton stood in the same place long after Whetu had gone.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. They were forcing him to limit how much he worked. He felt as though his world were ending. Performing was his life, his main source of joy, and now they were restricting him. Now he wouldn't be able to do anything until October.

Mettaton tried to look on the bright side— _at least I can still work at all, later on. It's not like they're firing me._

But the anxiety was setting in, along with a strange feeling of hopelessness. He tried not to cry as he made his way out of the building and got into his car, figuring maybe he'd get lucky and still be able to work at the fashion studio.

But when he got there, he was told the same thing—his work hours were now restricted for his own health. He could come in on Saturday for a half-day, and they'd work out his hours from there. But he wouldn't be working today.

It didn't look like Mettaton was going to work at all today.

He didn't know what to do or where to go. He didn't want to get home before Alphys—that would prove her right about his workload and exhaustion level.

He decided to just go loiter in his favorite café. He knew some of the staff there, and he had his mobile tablet computer with him—he could probably find something to do on there.

And maybe later he could go to the dance studio around the corner and practice on his own time.

Yeah—that would make for a nice day.

So for a couple of hours, Mettaton sat in the café, drinking coffee, chatting with a few people who stopped by, and playing around with his tablet. While the hopelessness seemed to have sunk deep into his soul, he still had a good enough time to distract himself from everything that was bothering him.

Around 12:30, he got a phone call.

 _Blocked number?_ he thought. _Who have I ever blocked besides…? Oh._

Mettaton had promised to see Devon at 12:30 sharp for lunch. But Mettaton was no longer on the premises.

After hesitating a few seconds, Mettaton answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mettaton! It's Devon. You told me to meet you down here at 12:30 sharp, but I can't find you anywhere. You're not standing me up, are you?"

"No, no, I'm not, I'm—I had to leave," replied Mettaton vaguely.

"Oh. Well—I'd still really like to talk…" Devon trailed off. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

Mettaton considered lying, saying that he was busy, that he had to go somewhere.

But Devon would probably corner him eventually, and he might as well get it over with.

"I'm at Prince's Café on Windsor Street," sighed Mettaton. "Come here if you want to see me."

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

After he hung up, Mettaton hesitantly unblocked Devon's number, just for the time being.

In about twenty minutes, he heard the door to the café open, and Devon came in.

"Hi, Mettaton!" the man said cheerfully as he sat across from the robot. "I'm so glad we could—hey, what's wrong?" he interrupted himself, seeing the despondency on Mettaton's face.

"Oh, it's—it's nothing. I just—" Mettaton fought the urge to vent to Devon, like he used to do. _He betrayed your trust. He doesn't deserve to hear about your problems anymore._ "They're making me—not work so much," he said anyway, all the while slapping himself mentally.

"What do you mean?" asked Devon.

"I mean—they're limiting my work hours and postponing my new show. I was pulling hundred-hour work weeks and _apparently_ that's not legal." Mettaton rolled his eyes, becoming more frustrated by the minute.

"Hundred-hour—? Mettaton, that's—that's incredible. I mean, you look great for having done that." Devon's eyes were wide. "But it's not good for you, you know? You have to be exhausted after all that."

"I'm _fine._ I'm only _not_ fine when I'm _not_ working," Mettaton growled. "This morning has been hell for me. If you and I are going to talk, you damn well better not lecture me about health. I think I know myself better than all of you."

Devon nodded slowly. "Alright, true enough." He looked up meekly at Mettaton. "So… do you want to order something to eat before we talk?"

Mettaton huffed. "I suppose."

He wasn't feeling very hungry, so he ordered a small salad while Devon asked for a bowl of soup. The man waited for Mettaton to eat a few bites of his food before he talked.

"So… uh… about what happened."

"We already talked about this. I said I'd think about it. I haven't decided yet." Mettaton took another sharp bite of lettuce.

"Really? You agreed to have lunch with me… I thought that meant you _had_ decided." Devon smiled.

"Only because you begged me to," grumbled Mettaton. But Devon's words had sowed a seed of doubt in his mind. Had he unintentionally made a peace offering by accepting this invitation to lunch?

Devon studied Mettaton curiously, his eyes roaming over every inch of the robot he could see. Mettaton could almost feel it, and he didn't like it at all. Completely losing his appetite, he put his fork down and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

"Mettaton…" Devon sighed and put down his spoon as well. "Look. I get it. I hurt you. You're scared and you don't want to trust me anymore. But look… I think if you go back and _really_ recall that night, things won't be as bad as you think you remember. I mean, we were having a lot of fun before I messed up!" He smiled. "We both just got a little too drunk and miscommunicated and things got a little out of hand. We can still fix this… but you have to forgive me, first."

Mettaton said nothing, only clutched at his own arms more tightly.

He didn't want to think about that night… not that he could remember much, not after Devon had gotten him into that car.

Once again, Mettaton considered that Devon could be right, and that maybe he was being ridiculous. But was he really imagining all the pain he felt? All that time he'd spent feeling used, and disgusted by the habits he'd taken up to cope?

"I—I don't—" Mettaton swallowed. Just thinking about Devon was making him feel nasty inside, and…

 _No. No, no, no. Not now, please not now…_

Mettaton crossed his legs tightly, trying to fight off the feeling of arousal. _I don't want this. I don't want this. Why does he make me feel this way?_

Devon alarmedly watched Mettaton's face redden. "Are you sick?"

Mettaton didn't know what to say or do. The feelings and the memories and Devon's presence were all too much. He covered his face with his hands and tried not to whimper audibly.

Devon heard him, and came over to his side of the table, putting his arms around him. "Come on, Mettaton, don't cry. You don't have to cry," he tried to comfort.

Mettaton only cried harder, his fear heightened by Devon's embrace. He didn't have the strength to pull away.

A waitress stopped by the table. "Is everything okay?" she asked concernedly.

 _No. No, I'm not okay. Please save me._

"It's fine, he'll be alright in a minute," Devon promised. The waitress nodded uncertainly and went on her way.

Devon was right, though. In a few minutes, Mettaton's sobs had turned to sniffs. But he was still stuck in Devon's arms, and the contact was making his arousal worse.

"You know, Mettaton…" said Devon pensively. "It seems like you've been feeling really bad about things. And… I don't want you to feel that way."

Mettaton stayed silent, wondering where Devon was going with this.

"That's why I think it's in your best interest to just… try to forgive me. I mean, forgiveness is supposed to help heal the heart and make you feel free," the man explained, absently rubbing Mettaton's lower back. "You've heard that, haven't you? It makes you happier than if you were just angry or upset about whatever happened all the time."

Mettaton still said nothing. He only wished Devon would stop touching him.

Devon lifted Mettaton's chin to look him in the eyes. "What do you think about that, hm? Are you ready to feel better?"

The robot swallowed, trying to keep down his lunch, and turned his face away. "I—I have to keep thinking about it."

Devon didn't hide his disappointment. He frowned and released Mettaton. "You've had a long time to think about it already," he protested. "It's time to man up and make a decision. You know, maybe you don't realize it, but this whole thing has hurt me too. Probably almost as much as it hurt you. I didn't _mean_ to mess up, and you're not giving me a chance to make it up to you. That _really_ hurts." He looked away. "And here I thought you didn't _want_ to hurt anyone anymore."

Mettaton inhaled sharply, memories of abandoning his friends entering into his mind against his will. He _hated_ those memories.

He hated himself for having them.

He hated Devon for using them against him.

But part of him was scared that he was just doing it all over again. Hurting someone who didn't deserve it. Pushing away someone who cared about him.

The idea of forgiving Devon was frightening. It could be the start of his going down a path he might not want to be on.

But he couldn't handle another situation like Blooky or Alphys on his conscience.

"I—I—okay. You're right. I-I can't do that again. You're right. I—I f-forgive you," Mettaton breathed. He tried his best to mean it.

Devon smiled and hugged Mettaton again. "Thank you, Mettaton. I knew you could do it. I can tell you're making an effort." He pulled back and held the robot's hands. "I'm glad we have the opportunity to make up. You should let me know when you're free. We could have ourselves a little date, maybe?" he chuckled. Then he looked up at the time. "Well, darn. I've got to get back to the studio very soon. I'm really glad we talked, though. Will you come back with me?"

"I—can't be there anymore. For a while," Mettaton explained jerkily, trying not to burst into tears again. "They won't let me film anything until October."

Devon stared for a second. "That's very—hm. I'm sorry to hear that." He went back to his side of the table and downed a few spoonfuls of soup quickly. "Maybe I can do something about that. That's ridiculous, honestly. Sure, you need rest, but that sounds like way too long of a break for you. I'll try and talk to someone."

Despite himself, Mettaton smiled a little. _Coming to my rescue again. Maybe… he isn't really so bad._ "Thanks."

Mettaton sat by himself, staring at his food, after Devon left.

Contrary to what the man had said, Mettaton's heart did not feel free after his genuine attempt at forgiveness. He felt as though he'd cornered himself somehow. That he'd fallen into some trap of Devon's and now he'd never let him go.

Blow after blow had hit Mettaton today, and he was too tired, too depressed, too upset to function in public anymore. He paid for his food and went home.

His apartment was lonely and empty; Napstablook and Alphys wouldn't be home for another few hours. Suddenly, Mettaton felt angry. It wasn't fair. Blooky and Alphys worked a lot, too, but _they_ didn't get banned from work for four months. No, _they_ got to keep doing what they loved for as long as they wanted, but _he_ had to stop because he was working too hard.

In the back of his mind, Mettaton knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care. In his bedroom, he took off his gloves, boots, and shoulder guards and threw them into his closet, satisfied at the loud thunk they made against the floor. Then he turned to his bed and began tossing the throw pillows around, not caring where they landed or what they knocked over. His throws became increasingly erratic and powerful until one of them hit his dresser and sent picture frames flying with a crash.

For a moment, Mettaton's anger faded, and horror took its place. He fell to his knees and picked up the pictures, avoiding the broken glass and bits of wood. He looked over each of the pictures in turn—himself and Blooky, himself and Alphys, Asgore, Frisk, Shyren—

And the last picture.

Three ghosts, two of them smiling and happy, one of them almost entirely blacked out.

Mettaton began to shake with anger again as he stared at that blacked-out ghost.

 _This is all your fault._

He slammed the pictures up on his dresser and left the room, boiling over, body physically radiating heat. As if that wasn't bad enough, after all this time, he _still_ felt aroused from Devon touching him. "Stupid _fucking_ body," he growled out loud. He almost wished Alphys hadn't made him so humanlike… but then, that had been the entire point. To make him as humanlike as possible, warts and all, so to speak.

In the living room, he kicked over the coffee table and threw more pillows, not caring if Alphys and Napstablook saw the mess when they got home.

Devon.

Glosmer.

That blacked-out ghost.

Being unable to work.

Everything he'd ever done.

Everything that had been done to him.

His absolutely ridiculous, unwanted libido.

It was like every bad thing in his life was coming together to break him.

Mettaton stomped into the kitchen and pulled a plate from the cupboard, smashing it on the floor with all the strength he had, making a fairly large dent in the hardwood floor.

For a minute he stood, bracing himself against the counter, breathing hard, tears coursing down his face.

Then, abruptly, he decided to go for a walk around the apartment complex.

It would get some of this pointless, angry energy out of him, he thought. And he'd learn some new things about where he lived; he'd never really been home long enough to explore the place, and he knew few of its features. That should distract him from his anger.

He wiped away his tears and left the apartment without even putting on any shoes.

He felt calmer already as he went down in the elevator. But it was an odd sort of calm, an unsettling kind. The kind that happened in the middle of a hurricane, when the eye passed over land.

 _I have to stay calm. No more anger. No more upset. Just think about something else._

He avoided the few people who were walking about the complex, not up for conversation or the probable questioning he'd get from folks wondering what he was doing away from work. He only waved to the doorman, Rocky, as he entered the lobby.

In the lobby, he saw a fire escape map on the wall that listed some of the rooms on the first floor. _A gym?_ he thought. _That would be nice right now. I'll go check that out._

One of the first things he saw in the gym was a large swimming pool, which he purposefully avoided. Instead, he looked over the treadmills, the rowers, the trainers, the weights, and various other machines and equipment for exercise.

He eyed the treadmills. _Alphys has clocked me at about eighty kilometers per hour… I wonder if these can go that fast… probably not._

His irritation returned. There was hardly anything in this gym that would be up to his caliber. It was all useless to him.

Then, over in a corner, he found a line of punching bags and boxing gloves.

Mettaton clenched his fists unconsciously. All that other equipment might not be good enough for him, but these old-fashioned sand bags should match up to his strength.

Without putting the protective gloves on, he gave one of the bags an experimental punch, making the bag swing slightly and his right hand smart a little. He shook it off and punched harder with his other hand, sending a wave of pain down it.

He didn't care.

He punched again. This time, he let a little bit of his anger go with it. His fingers felt numb.

He didn't care.

He punched again. More anger left—and yet more replaced it. His arms hurt all the way up to his shoulders.

He didn't care.

No, that wasn't right. He cared. He _welcomed_ it.

With every punch, he saw things in his mind—Devon's handsome, smirking face. Glosmer's bright white office. The palace in the Underground. Alphys's panicking face as she finished Mettaton's body. His old home in Waterfall. His parents—

Seething with rage, Mettaton punched the bag harder than he had before, and felt his fingers split.

He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth, trying not to yell. He clutched his hand to his chest and stared at it. He'd broken the fine metal mesh skin on the four fingers of his left hand, and he could see his endoskeleton through some of the splits. Oil dripped onto the floor.

Vaguely, Mettaton wondered how he'd explain this to Alphys. But most of his mind was focused on the pain.

It was like the pain was keeping his anger at bay. Like it was keeping him from completely losing it.

He remembered this feeling from his teenage years. He'd sworn he wouldn't let himself feel it again once he'd achieved his dreams of stardom.

But now he'd unwittingly done it again…

He wasn't proud of himself. He knew it wasn't good.

But he longed for the calm it brought, that nothing else could seem to bring.

He made his way back to the elevator in a sort of daze, not realizing at first that someone else was there.

"Well, hello there! Melachon, isn't it?" a short, elderly black woman with snow-white hair asked him as he got on. "I hardly ever see you around. Always working. What a good boy you are," she said, patting his arm, "supporting your family. What is it you do again? Oh! You know, you should come to my apartment sometime. I live right next to you. You know what else, you remind me of my daughter. She works hard too, and such pretty black hair, just like yours." She moved his bangs aside, revealing his still-unfinished eye. She squinted. "Oh, I think you have an infection in this eye, dearie. You should get that looked at."

Mettaton blinked, still in a bit of a daze, and having missed most of the woman's monologue. "Uh, um, my name's Mettaton," he said stupidly.

"Oh, my apologies, love. Anyway, take a trip to the doctor and get that eye looked at. You don't want to lose it." She smiled, then stared at the hand that he still held to his chest. "Now what did you do there?"

Mettaton panicked suddenly. "Oh, uh, it's, just, I… fell." It was the weakest excuse he probably could have come up with, but fortunately the elevator was opening, and he could escape quickly. "Scraped myself up a bit. I'll be fine."

The woman was still concerned as they stepped out. "That looks pretty bad, and that blood is very dark. I think you should come to my apartment and let me fix it," she insisted, pulling on his upper arm.

"No—you don't understand," Mettaton pleaded. "I'm—I'm not a human, ma'am. I'm a _robot._ I have to have a special scientist fix me. It's not like human skin. I'm a _monster,_ ma'am, can't you see that?" Irritation rose in his voice as she continued to pull on him.

She squinted at him again. "Oh, dear. I need a new prescription for these glasses. Well, let old Mrs. Hawke make sure you make it home, anyway. You don't look very well."

"We're twenty feet from my apartment," Mettaton grumbled, but he let the woman accompany him anyway.

Mrs. Hawke patted his back at the door. "You get some good rest now, you hear? And get back to me on coming over for a visit. I miss having a handsome boy around the house, my son moved out years ago, only comes to visit a few times a year. You kind of remind me of him, hardly ever around. Well, toodle-oo!" she called, ambling over to her own apartment door.

Mettaton shook his head in bewilderment; he'd still missed about half of what she'd said. But she seemed nice enough.

Once he got back into his apartment, he looked around at the mess he'd made earlier and suddenly felt completely exhausted—by his tantrum, by Devon, by work, by memories, by the pain in his hand. He trudged to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep within minutes.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: Happy New Year, y'all!

You may have noticed this was a long chapter (almost 6000 words). Originally it was going to be even longer, but someone suggested I break it up to make it easier on the readers, so I have. Chapter 12 will be along very shortly!

I'd just like to reiterate that Devon is gaslighting Mettaton (see a definition in the notes of Chapter 7) and using things he's learned about Mettaton to manipulate him. As for how Devon knows certain things about Mettaton's life... well, you've probably guessed by this point that Mettaton and Devon have a past together, and it wasn't all bad at first.

I'd also like to stress (because I'm a paranoid fuck) that Mettaton's episode near the end of the chapter is in fact a case of self harm-not his first ever, as you'll see, but his first in a long time. He is attempting to cope with his emotional pain by letting it out through physical means.

Not all coping mechanisms are good. They may help in the short term, but be extremely harmful in the long term (or even the short term as well). As someone who has attempted to cope through harming myself, and who still struggles with it-you are not a bad person if you struggle with it, but it's not a good thing. You have to work to find coping mechanisms that are not inherently harmful, and that sometimes takes a while. Sometimes it also takes the help of other people, even if you feel ashamed and don't want them to know.

Mettaton has yet to see that he doesn't need to be ashamed, and that his family and friends would help him in an instant if they knew he needed it. It can take a long time to trust others with this stuff. But it can be worth it in the end.

Thanks for reading, I hope you all found this to be an insightful look into Mettaton's psyche so far. Don't forget to leave a comment if you want, I love hearing everyone's thoughts.


	12. Blow After Blow (Part 2)

_**Trigger warnings:**_ ** _implied sexual content (masturbation and sex)_**

 _Chapter 12 – Blow After Blow (Part 2)_

"Mettaton? M-Mettaton! Are you okay? What happened?"

"Huh?" Mettaton lifted his head groggily. His sleep had been fitful, and he didn't feel rested in the slightest.

Alphys was perched on his bed next to his face. "The a-a-apartment's a mess, so's your room, did someone break in?" she asked, pushing his hair away from his eye. Mettaton could now see Napstablook hovering in the doorway, staring around the room.

"No, it was—it was—" Mettaton didn't want to tell the truth, but he was tired of coming up with lies. He looked away from Alphys. "It was me. I was upset… and I threw a fit." His voice was hardly a mumble by the end.

"Y-You… threw a fit?" Alphys repeated incredulously. Mettaton may have been a high-maintenance celebrity, but she had never known him to throw fits. "W-Why? And how come you got home before us?"

Mettaton felt tears gather in his eyes again. He didn't want to talk about it at all, but they'd find out eventually. "They won't let me film anything until October," he answered, trying not to sob. "They won't let me come in to work. They say I need rest, but I—I don't _want_ it. I want to work. It's my _life,_ Alphys." Tears spilled sideways down his face onto the blankets. "I _have_ to."

"Oh…" Alphys suddenly looked very uncomfortable. She absentmindedly smoothed Mettaton's hair back. "I'm… I'm really sorry to hear that, Mettaton…" She cleared her throat. "Well, since we're all here now, um, I… I can order out for dinner! What do you g-guys want?" she asked, turning to Napstablook. "There's that pizza place around the corner—except the last time I ordered from there I kind of embarrassed myself, so, maybe not… uh… maybe I won't order out. I mean, w-we have lots of ramen. We should probably eat that."

"I don't want anything," Mettaton said in a hollow voice.

Alphys pursed her lips, then turned the robot over with difficulty, removed his chest plate, popped open a shallow compartment, and looked at the meters inside. "Your magical energy is v-very low. Have you eaten at all today?"

Mettaton shrugged. "I had a few bites of salad around lunchtime. And a muffin at breakfast."

"That's really, really bad, Mettaton," Alphys scolded him. _"Great_ way to start your period of rest and getting your health back up. Get up and put a shirt on, I'll go ahead and order a p-pizza since I know you hate that instant ramen." She grabbed his hand to pull him up.

Mettaton cried out as she pulled on his bad hand. She gasped when she saw the torn skin. "O-oh, my god. What did you _do?"_

"It was—I just—I fell. It was an accident. I fell hard on that hand, I—I think I might have damaged my endoskeleton," Mettaton lied, hoping against hope that Alphys would fall for it.

She didn't seem to be. "You… fell."

"Yes, and I landed on my hand."

Alphys blinked and studied the wounds more closely. "Well, these do seem to be impact wounds… kind of odd they're on the knuckles and not the palm, though."

"I caught myself weirdly, okay?" Mettaton snatched his hand back. "Can you just fix it instead of interrogating me?"

"I… w-wasn't interrogating you, but okay… come on to the lab," Alphys said finally, clearly not believing Mettaton's story, but not willing to pursue the issue.

Alphys had him sit on the examination table and hooked him up to a bunch of machines. Then she turned off the pain receptors to his whole arm. The soreness in his shoulder and the dull stinging in his fingers disappeared immediately.

Then she examined his hand, completely removing the mesh covering to reveal the endoskeleton. "Well, no fractures. That's good. You only busted a little oil tube," she said. Fixing the tube took only a few minutes and a steady hand. Then she put back on the mesh skin and bandaged Mettaton's fingers after cleaning off the oil. "I can't remember if I told you, but this stuff is actually self-healing, like real human skin," she explained. "The bandage should be safe to remove in a couple of days, maybe even tomorrow."

"Thanks," Mettaton said listlessly.

Alphys studied him with concern; she hadn't ever seen him look so depressed—not even when they'd first met and he'd thought his dreams could never come true. "Well…" she said finally, "I think I'm gonna go order that pizza now. In the meantime, I'll run a few tests on you, just the ones we do on your check-up days. I'm thinking we should do that weekly since your health isn't great right now."

"God, Alphys. _I'm fine._ Just—oh, whatever, don't listen to me, then," grouched Mettaton as Alphys set the tests going despite his protests and left the room. He slumped back against the wall and spied Napstablook floating just in the doorway. He looked at his cousin with sad eyes. "Hey, Blooky."

"Hey, Mettaton…" Napstablook said awkwardly, floating closer. "I'm… sorry they won't let you work for a while… that must be hard."

"You have no idea," sighed Mettaton. And they really didn't.

Napstablook came to rest right beside him. "They're just worried about you… you work an awful lot," they tried to comfort him. "You seem really tired lately… if you get too tired, you could fall down."

"I know that, Blooky. Trust me." Mettaton rolled his eyes. "But it's really annoying, to say the least, that all of you think you know me better than, well, me."

"…sometimes, we need help taking care of ourselves…" said Napstablook thoughtfully. "Sometimes, we really don't know what's best for ourselves… but other people see it more clearly. I think that's what's happening…"

"I wish they'd let _me_ make decisions about _my_ life. They all _know_ how important performing is to me. But they just… took it away." Mettaton's tone was very bitter.

"Well, then, you'll treasure it more when you get back into it," Napstablook said simply. "…I don't think anyone is trying to ruin your life, Mettaton… Alphys is just trying to take care of you."

"Alphys? What does she have to do with this?" Mettaton demanded, despondency gone. Now that he thought about it, Alphys _had_ been talking to him about seeming tired and working too much… and that was exactly the reason Glosmer had put him off work.

 _We received a call from someone—someone who wished to remain anonymous, saying you seemed very exhausted lately, and maybe we should go through your past work schedules to see how much you've been doing…_

"Blooky." Mettaton's voice was deadly quiet. "What did Alphys do."

Napstablook turned their face away, beginning to tremble, knowing they'd made a mistake. "…nothing."

"Napstablook." Mettaton sat up. "Did Alphys call my workplace? Did she leave an anonymous tip?"

"No… n-no, I… I don't know…" Napstablook disappeared from the room instantly.

" _ALPHYS!"_ Mettaton roared, leaping up from the table, ripping out all the wires hooked up to him, and thundering into the hallway.

Alphys came running back in a panic, still on the phone with the pizza restaurant. "What is it? W-what happened? Did you hurt—?" She stopped when she saw the look of fury on the robot's face. Hesitantly she put the phone back up to her ear. "Um… I'm going t-to have to cancel this order. I'm s-sorry." She hung up.

"How dare you," hissed Mettaton.

"What? W-what did I do?" stuttered Alphys, clutching the phone like a lifeline.

Napstablook materialized next to her, looking away from Mettaton. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to tell him…"

"It's—it's okay, Napstablook, d-don't worry about it—" Alphys drew herself up to her full height and looked Mettaton in the eye bravely. "You weren't going to take c-care of yourself, it was clear. I tried s-s-suggesting things to you—you didn't listen. I'm your b-best friend, Mettaton, and best friends take care of each other."

"Yes, they take care of each other! They don't _ruin_ each other's lives!" Mettaton screamed. "You of _all_ people know how much my work means to me! There's no point to living if I can't work! You know that and you did it anyway! And _you!"_ Mettaton turned on his cousin, who cowered behind Alphys. "You _knew!_ And you didn't tell me! How _could_ you?"

"Don't—d-don't you blame them!" Alphys defended them. "They only floated in on me making the call. I m-made them promise not to tell."

"I'm their _cousin!_ We're supposed to tell each other things…" Mettaton's tone fell from anger to utter betrayal. He couldn't speak anymore. He shoved his way past Alphys and locked himself in his room.

For a few seconds he tried to contain his emotions, then he let it all out with a scream. For the second time that day, he threw his decorative pillows around the room, tore clothes off their hangers in his closet, and punched his mattress until he was completely exhausted, and could only cry pitifully into his sleeping pillow.

Alphys banged on his door in a panic, hearing the crashes and the stomping as he had his fit. "Mettaton! Mettaton, oh my god—" She stared at Napstablook in horror. "What if he's hurting himself in there? Napstablook, you have to go inside and—" She stopped as Napstablook shook their head, terrified at the sounds that Mettaton was making. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. Never mind. But—Mettaton! Please unlock the door, oh my god…"

She heard him finally throw himself on the bed, and stepped back. "I think—h-he's just gonna have to cry himself out." She wiped tears from her eyes. "G-god, I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, Napsta—I didn't think he'd take it so hard." She looked over at the ghost. "Maybe he'll come out later. I'm… I'm gonna make some ramen for dinner." Alphys shakily walked back to the kitchen, still listening to Mettaton's wretched sobbing.

Napstablook looked toward the door, then back toward the kitchen, reluctant to leave their cousin, but also reluctant to stay for fear of Mettaton starting up again. In the end, they decided they weren't hungry, and took refuge in their room, crying carefully into an acid-proof handkerchief.

Ω

Mettaton did not come out later. Once he had finally stopped crying, he lay motionless, face still buried in his pillows, until long after he heard Alphys and Napstablook go to bed. He turned his head to look at the clock eventually—10:57. He sighed.

Five hours he'd lain there, intermittently sobbing, dozing off, and replaying memories in his head while trying not to panic.

The memories had made everything worse.

He hadn't thought about much of them in detail for years, and he never wanted to again. But they were like water behind a dam, building up power and volume over the years, until it finally broke through the wall, wreaking destruction and death wherever it went.

The memories had broken through Mettaton's protective walls and were now devastating his mind.

No, not just his mind. His body too.

Remembering Devon and what he did and how Mettaton had almost wanted to be with him… it was all culminating in that persistent, stupid arousal.

Mettaton closed his eyes and screwed up his face. There was only one way he might be able to get it to go away, but he _hated_ it. Before he'd met Devon, he'd done it for fun, done it to explore his body, but now that it was some kind of _need,_ some continuous and uncertain and sometimes insatiable necessity, it felt absolutely disgusting.

He tried to ignore the feeling. Sometimes, if he waited long enough, he found that it went away on its own. But tonight, with the memories and today's meeting with Devon fresh in his mind, and the deep upset of his life that had come with being unable to work, it just wouldn't leave.

Mettaton breathed deeply and turned on his back. He didn't have another choice if he wanted to sleep tonight. He looked toward the door to make sure it was closed completely, closed his eyes, and began.

When he was finished, he still wasn't satisfied.

Breathing heavily, he turned on his side and tried not to cry for the millionth time that day. He should have known he wouldn't be enough for himself. He rarely was. And it had already been a terrible day; it was just yet another bad thing to add to the pile.

 _Guess I'm not sleeping tonight._

Sighing, he got up and dressed himself in a simple white T-shirt, black sweatpants, sneakers, and a black hoodie. It was his "disguise" of sorts.

Where he was going, he couldn't have any outsiders recognize him.

Digging deep down in his sock drawer, Mettaton found the last thing he needed—a large wad of cash. Four-hundred and fifty New Zealand dollars to pay off someone if needed. And he usually needed it.

Quietly, he snuck out of the apartment, went to his car, and drove across the city, pulling up in front of a white, nondescript building in an older part of town—a hook-up club. For a few minutes he sat in his car, building up the courage to go inside and do what he needed to do.

Mettaton pulled his hood up over his head and finally got out. _It's okay, you have to do this, just do it and go home._

 _I really don't want to do this._

He stood in front of the club a minute longer, encouraging himself. _You've done this before a million times. You go in, you find a nice guy, you hook up, you leave. No big deal._

He finally stepped inside, where a familiar hostess greeted him quietly. "Hey there, Mettaton. Haven't seen you in a while. Things going alright?"

Mettaton opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head.

The hostess smiled sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, hopefully things'll get better and you'll have a good time tonight. You know where to go."

Mettaton nodded and made his way over to the part of the club where gay men met, bracing himself for meeting strangers, some nice, some pushy, some apathetic.

 _Please just let me find someone who'll help me._

 _Please._

One young man, a little shorter than Mettaton with dark hair and eyes, nodded to him as he passed. Mettaton nodded back slowly, and both of them went over to the club's bar.

Both were silent for a few minutes until the young man asked, "Do you want a drink?"

Mettaton shook his head. "I can't. Not anymore."

The young man nodded slowly. "Then… would you like to go ahead and find a room?"

"Yeah… let's just do it," sighed Mettaton.

He and the young man went to the second floor of the building and found an empty room with a bed and a small couch. Mettaton began to close the door behind them, hesitating one last second before he locked it and turned the room occupancy indicator to OCCUPIED.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand here's the second part of Mettaton's bad time. Once again, he's applying coping mechanisms that are ultimately harmful and unhelpful to him. Without anyone else to help him, he doesn't know what else to do.

Later on, when the fic transitions from depicting mental illness to the start of recovery, it will be explained why Mettaton is acting the way he is. But the type of disorder he has isn't exactly well known, so I'll explain it a little bit right now.

*Warnings for discussion of sexuality and sexual abuse*

What Mettaton has is called "hypersexuality disorder" or "sex addiction." Google defines this as "a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasy, often in combination with the obsessive pursuit of casual or non-intimate sex; pornography; compulsive masturbation; romantic intensity and objectified partner sex for a period of at least six months." Personally, as someone with the disorder, I don't necessarily agree that it has to be 6 months, but that's beside the point.

Hypersexuality can be developed by just about anyone. It can come with OCD, autism, ADHD, sexual trauma, by using sex to cope with negative feelings or the inability to form close relationships, etc. One of the reasons for that is because the brain very often gets attached to extreme stimuli—this includes pain, sexual pleasure, adrenaline, etc. It's why people who have been abused often end up getting into abusive situations again and again—the brain, chemically speaking, begins to crave the stimulus that the abuse causes. In some ways it can actually be a form of addiction.

Mettaton's hypersexuality is obviously caused by trauma. After he was sexually abused, his mind and his body began craving the extreme stimulus—the sexual feelings—that was brought on by the abuse. At this point, of course, he refuses to go back with his abuser, but that means he has to seek that stimulus elsewhere, either through himself or through an outside source.

Relapses in this disorder can be caused by different factors. For Mettaton, one of those factors is close proximity with the person who sexually abused him. Another factor is the actual memory (or approximate memory) of what happened to him.

People with hypersexuality disorder often feel disgusted with themselves, especially if their symptoms involve constantly fantasizing about sex or having constant physical libido.

I tried to capture the most important things in my depiction with Mettaton—some of the symptoms, the reasons for it, how we often feel about ourselves.

Once again, a lot of this will be explained in the fic itself when it turns more to recovery from mental illness. But I hope this has been educational and clarifying for all of you, and if you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them.

In the meantime, I hope this was another good insight into Mettaton's psyche for all of you, and I'd like to hear your thoughts if you have any. Next chapter should be more enjoyable a read.


	13. Pasta

_**No trigger warnings this chapter.**_

 _Chapter 13 – Pasta, Puns, and Pissed-Off Robots_

Alphys yawned widely as she stepped out of her room the next morning and headed for the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw someone sitting at the table. "Mettaton!" she cried, hurrying to take the seat across from the robot. "I-I'm glad you're up! How did you sleep l-last night?"

"I didn't."

"O-oh." Alphys was disconcerted by Mettaton's dead tone and refusal to make eye contact. "Well… at least… at least y-you're calmed down now?"

Mettaton said nothing.

Alphys folded her hands in her lap uncomfortably. After a few seconds she sighed, "Look, Mettaton, I'm sorry—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Mettaton, please—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." Mettaton stood up abruptly and headed for his room.

Alphys launched from her own seat and ran after him. "Mettaton, stop! Wait a minute," she cried, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. "Look at me."

Mettaton forced himself to meet her eyes.

"I know… I know yesterday was… r-really hard for you," stammered Alphys, gazing into his only visible eye, blank with despair. "That's why I think—I think it would—be really nice if you came and hung out with me today."

Mettaton blinked several times, as if he were trying not to cry. "Why would I want to hang out with you." It wasn't a question.

Now Alphys was trying not to cry herself. "I don't—I d-don't—it's not for me, it's for _you._ You kept saying y-you had nothing to do anymore, so—so I thought maybe I could give you something to do." She sighed again. "Look. Some friends and I all got the day off, and we were going to go to a restaurant and walk around the shops a little. And I just—th-thought—maybe it'd help you feel a little better." She let go of his hand. "But it's whatever you want."

Mettaton walked back to his room without saying anything, his head ducked and arms hugging his body. But he stopped right outside the doorway. "What friends?"

"Oh, j-just a few," replied Alphys, rocking back and forth on her feet. "You've met them all already. Sans, and Papyrus… and Undyne."

Mettaton grimaced. "I don't want to go anywhere with her."

"I—I already called and asked if it would be okay with her, to have you come along," Alphys admitted. "I told her you haven't been doing well lately, and she promised she'd be nice if you decided to come."

Mettaton stayed still for a little bit before asking, "…When are you planning on leaving?"

"W-We were gonna meet around lunchtime—noon, I think."

Leaning against the doorframe heavily, Mettaton thought it all over. "…Okay," he said finally. "I'll come… but don't expect me to be all smiles and sunshine. I can't—I can't."

"That's fine." Alphys breathed a sigh of relief. "I can drive. We're going to the new Italian place over on York, I've heard it has good pizza and pasta and salads and stuff." She squinted suddenly. "But you're eating m-more than a salad today, okay? You need s-something hearty or you're going to start losing stats and it'll t-t-take forever to get them back up."

"Fine, whatever," said Mettaton dismissively. "I'm going to see what Blooky's up to."

He stepped over toward Napstablook's room and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he opened it himself and peered inside the dark room. "Blooky?"

The little ghost floated in the corner of their room with their headphones on. The sudden light from the hallway startled them into turning around. Their headphones fell off as they stared wordlessly at Mettaton.

"What are you doing, Blooky?" asked Mettaton quietly.

Napstablook only continued to stare at him.

Mettaton cleared his throat. "Well, um… Alphys and I are going out with some other friends today… did you want to come along, too? I don't think anyone would mind…"

Napstablook slowly sank closer to the floor. "No… I'm sorry… I was going to see Shyren today…" they whispered timidly.

"Oh! Well, that'll—that'll be fun, then." Mettaton forced a smile. "Tell her hi from me."

The ghost nodded and turned back to their music.

Mettaton closed the door behind him and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

Alphys reached for him alarmedly. "Mettaton?"

He ducked under her arm, jumped up, and raced for his room, slamming the door behind him.

Napstablook was scared of him.

His _own cousin_ was scared of him, and all because he had to throw a big hissy fit over having to do something he didn't want to.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew he was being unfair to himself—getting your livelihood taken from you was more than just a case of "having to do something you didn't want to."

But rational thought was gone, and all that was left was smoldering anger and despair and nothingness. Mettaton didn't even have it in him to cry anymore.

 _Just hold out for a few more hours. Then you'll go out and have some fun and you won't think about this for a while._

He repeated the same sentences to himself over and over until he lulled himself into a much-needed doze.

Ω

Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne were waiting just outside the Italian restaurant. Undyne glanced over her shoulder impatiently. "Think I should just go ahead and get a table?" she asked.

Sans shrugged. "Maybe. It's lookin' kinda busy in there. Just a table for four, right?"

"Five. She's bringing Mettaton."

"She's WHAT?" Papyrus stood to attention. Why did no one ever tell him these things? He wouldn't have worn his battle body again if he'd known.

"Oh yeah, right." Undyne rubbed her forehead. "She called me late last night, said Mettaton's been having a really bad time at work apparently. She asked if I would be nice if he wanted to come hang with us today."

"Well, I certainly hope you said yes," grumbled Papyrus. "I'd hate to see him upset."

"Of course I did. I'm not _that_ much of an asshole that I'd purposefully be mean to a guy who cried for like, two hours yesterday." Undyne clapped a hand on Papyrus's shoulder. "Lighten up, Pap. Mettaton's not a god, he gets to get bullied and be emotional and have problems just like the rest of us."

But Papyrus was too preoccupied to listen to her little spiel. "He cried for two hours yesterday?" he asked incredulously.

"I guess." Undyne shrugged. "Whatever it is must be bad. But, uh, don't tell either of them I told you that, he'll probably get pissy at me. And don't ask him about what happened either. He probably doesn't want to talk about it."

"Fine." Papyrus sighed exasperatedly. _Papyrus, do this. Papyrus, don't do that. Will anyone ever give me any actual_ advice, _or is it just going to be orders all the time?_

"I think that's them… yeah, that's Alphys's car," said Sans, peering out over the parking lot. "And… look's like Mettaton's with her."

"Hey, babe!" Undyne waved and stepped off the curb to meet Alphys as she and Mettaton came up to the restaurant.

Papyrus smiled and waved at Mettaton, who smiled wanly back, but said nothing.

Undyne took in Mettaton's extremely casual outfit, carelessly combed hair, and total lack of makeup. "Jeez, dude, you look—" She cleared her throat. "I mean. It's, uh. Good to see you."

"Yeah, thanks," Mettaton replied vacantly.

"We goin' in, or what?" asked Sans, one hand on the door handle.

"Yeah, let's go, it's chilly out here," Alphys answered, pulling on the other door.

Soon they were all seated at a round table, ordering drinks and looking over the menu. Papyrus couldn't help but notice how quiet and gloomy Mettaton seemed next to him. Suddenly, he felt determined to cheer the robot up somehow. Drumming his fingers on the table, he tried to come up with something to talk about.

"So!" he said, smiling brightly and turning to Mettaton. "How are things at—" _No, wait, I can't ask about work—_ "Uh, h-how are things?"

Mettaton didn't even respond to him at first, just stared uncomprehendingly at his menu. Then he shook himself. "Sorry, did someone say something?"

"Yes… I asked how things are for you," repeated Papyrus, slightly nonplussed.

"Oh—sorry, I've been really out of it lately," Mettaton said with a weak laugh. "It's—they've been fine, though."

"Oh. Well, that's good." Papyrus fell silent again. What a real conversation starter _that_ had been. "Do you—uh, what do you think of this place? It's not too fancy, but it's nice enough, don't you think?" he tried next.

This time, Mettaton seemed to make an effort to respond. "All the plants are pretty…" he said slowly, glancing up at the hanging flower baskets scattered around the restaurant.

"Yes! I especially appreciate the chrysanthemums." Papyrus inclined his head toward one basket nearby. "And the, um—the carpet is nice and new, too. Although, it is a new restaurant, so it makes sense they'd have a new carpet, too…"

Mettaton nodded vacantly and flipped to the salad section of the menu.

"Just leave him alone, Pap," Sans muttered next to Papyrus.

Papyrus huffed and nearly said "Fine," in response. But as soon as he opened his mouth to say it, he closed it again.

He wasn't going to let his brother or his friends boss him around this time.

No, he was going to come up with the perfect way to get a genuine laugh or a smile out of Mettaton.

But what was the perfect way?

Papyrus thought back to all the time Sans had cheered him up when he was feeling sad. Unfortunately, Sans only ever seemed to do one thing. But… it had always worked.

Papyrus sighed, supposing it was his last shot.

"Do you like puns?"

"What?" Mettaton turned to him.

"Do you like puns?"

The robot blinked, not sure where this was going. "I… guess."

"Would you like to hear some?" A small part of Papyrus begged for Mettaton to say no.

"…Sure, I guess."

Papyrus exhaled. "Okay. Hopefully they'll be _humerus_ enough to make you smile."

When Mettaton didn't react, he explained, _"Humerus._ Like, an arm bone?" He rubbed his bicep. "Because I'm a skeleton…" He fell silent.

Mettaton forced a laugh. "Oh! Yeah, that's right. Yeah, that was…" He too fell silent.

Papyrus decided not to give up yet. "Well… then another! Uh… Why can't skeletons play church music?"

"Why?"

"Because they have no organs!"

Mettaton seemed to suppress a real laugh this time. "Does that mean ghosts can't play church music either?"

"Hm… I suppose not," mused Papyrus. Encouraged, he tried another joke. "Why are skeletons bad at lying? Because everyone can see right through them!"

"Skeletons seem to be bad at a lot of things," Mettaton noted, with the tiniest bit of a grin on his face.

Papyrus waved him off. "Oh, no! We skeletons are perfectly capable of doing many things, including lying and playing church music. I'm simply taking advantage of common stereotypes in order to make a joke."

Sans tugged on his scarf suddenly. "Who are you, and what did you do with my brother?"

"Oh, be quiet, Sans!" Papyrus snatched his scarf away as he scolded. "I'm trying to tickle Mettaton's funnybone—I mean—AUGH! Why must I become what I hate?"

Mettaton couldn't hold back his giggles anymore. "You know, for someone who seems to hate puns, you're pretty good at making them."

"It's _his_ fault!" Papyrus pointed accusingly at his brother. "I've lived with him for so long that he's infected me with his ability to make bad jokes!"

"Hey, all my jokes are top quality," Sans protested. "You just don't have the _stomach_ for them."

"Alright, the next person who makes a pun will be mincemeat when I'm done with them." Undyne pointed her menu like a spear at the skeletons.

"Impossible. Papyrus and I don't have any meat on us. We aren't even skin and bones. We're just bones."

"God dammit, Papyrus, you just had to get him started," Undyne complained.

"It's okay. It's funny," interjected Mettaton. "It feels nice to smile a little."

Alphys caught their attention. "Uh, g-guys, here's the waiter, are we ready to order?"

Everyone murmured their affirmation and ordered some kind of pasta or pizza for their lunch. Mettaton's better mood seemed to keep up until his order. Just as he opened his mouth, Alphys butted in and said, "He'll have the penne with meat sauce. And at least three of those big meatballs."

The waiter glanced at Mettaton, who muttered "Sure, that's fine," under his breath.

As soon at the waiter left, Mettaton put his head in his hands. "Stop doing that."

"D-Doing what?" stammered Alphys, trying to keep her temper under control.

"Stop—controlling everything I do!" Mettaton slammed his hand down on the table. "I'm getting sick of it!"

"I-It's not about control, Mettaton! It's about making sure you're healthy!" Alphys gritted her teeth, staring him in the face, for once without fear. "I know what you wanted to order, I could see what you were looking at in the menu. And I told you, you need more than just salad. You need to eat some hearty foods too, or you're just going to make yourself sick!"

Undyne, Papyrus, Sans, and some nearby guests watched uncomfortably as Mettaton raged back at her, his voice breaking.

"I don't care! I don't care what _you_ want. What about what _I_ want? What about what makes me _happy?_ Doesn't that matter to you?" He pushed his chair back. "I need the restroom."

As Mettaton practically ran away from the table, Alphys covered her eyes with her hand and tried to hold back a whimper.

Undyne put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey! Hey, Alph… I... what—what's going on?" she faltered. "Is something wrong with him?"

Alphys glanced at the skeletons, particularly at Papyrus, before deciding she didn't care who heard her anymore. "It's—it's just—" she sniffed. "I was—I was so _worried_ about h-him—he was working and working and working and he j-just wouldn't stop—it was hurting him, I could tell—so—I called his workplaces a-and asked if they could l-limit his hours—a-and he found out and now he's really mad at me—and h-he's not eating right either—h-h-he's gonna get sick and fall d-down, I just know it, I-I can't lose him!" She broke down into sobs.

"Hey—hey, it's gonna be okay, Alphie." Undyne wrapped her up in a big hug. "I know you're worried about him because you love him. But maybe you should lay off a little. You know, if you're right, he'll see it eventually, and he'll listen to you then."

Papyrus looked off in the direction Mettaton had disappeared in, then back at Undyne, processing everything that she and Alphys had said. Then, without another word, he stood and headed for the restroom.

"Pap, don't—don't bother him," Undyne tried to tell him.

"Let him go," Sans said.

Undyne stared at him incredulously. "What?"

"Let him go," the skeleton repeated. "Don't worry about it. Pap's just gonna work his magic. I guarantee you both of them will be coming out of there just fine."

Ω

Mettaton leaned against the wall in the last stall of the bathroom, hiccupping intermittently, trying to keep the tears from falling.

What a mess everything was. He'd just made a huge fool of himself, yelling at his best friend like that. He wouldn't be surprised if someone had filmed it, and would put it up on the internet within hours. He could see the title: "Celebrity robot has meltdown in local restaurant." That was the last thing he needed.

The door to the restroom creaked open, and Mettaton hugged himself, trying to stay quiet. Hopefully whoever it was would just do their business and leave quickly.

"Mettaton?"

 _Papyrus._ Mettaton covered his mouth. No way he was going to blub in front of a fan. _Just go away…_

"Mettaton… I know you're in here. I can see your shoes."

Mettaton hiccupped in surprise. _But of course pink shoes would be a dead giveaway… damn it._

"I just… I just want to talk to you…" The skeleton's voice trailed off.

Angrily, Mettaton swung open the stall door and stepped out. "Here, is this what you wanted to see?" he spat, showing off his disheveled appearance. "Go ahead, take a picture. Show everyone that the fabulous Mettaton has finally lost it. Happy?"

Hurt showed on Papyrus's face. "No… of course I'm not."

Mettaton crossed his arms. "Then I suppose you want me to come back and apologize to Alphys and act like this didn't happen. Well, it's not happening."

"No, I…" Papyrus sat up on the sink countertop and looked into Mettaton's eye seriously. "I want to listen."

Mettaton shook his head in bewilderment. "What?"

"You know… you say words, as many as you want, and I'll listen and not say anything for a while."

"I know what you meant—ugh, fine." Mettaton rubbed his temples. "Alphys, for whatever reason, has decided to sink her claws into my life—first it was just, 'Oh, Mettaton, you look so tired, maybe you should take a break from work,' and I told her that was ridiculous, and I thought it was over after that. Then she goes and _calls all of my workplaces_ and convinces them to put me on forced leave for four months and limited work hours after that! And now she's trying to force me to eat all this—this rich stuff, even though I really can't stomach it right now—I just—I just—" He hugged himself. _I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry._ "My whole _life's_ been 'Mettaton, do this. Mettaton, don't do that.' Any 'advice' anyone gives me is really just an order. I thought—I thought it would get better when I was grown up, but—but it just feels _worse._ Nobody cares about what I _actually_ need, it's just, 'Oh, Mettaton, you look exhausted, I'm going to put you off work without figuring out the actual problem.' They all think they're helping me, but—they don't—they don't understand at all how I _feel."_

Papyrus thought over things carefully. Truthfully, some of what Mettaton was telling him sounded _very_ familiar.

He thought about what he would want to hear, were he in Mettaton's position. "How _do_ you feel, Mettaton?" he asked quietly.

Mettaton swallowed. "I feel—I feel—I guess I am a little tired—but it's nothing I can't handle. Or at least I _could_ handle it my way if they'd let me. And I'm angry, and lost, and I feel like I'm losing my mind—" He turned away from Papyrus suddenly. "They probably all think I'm just a big brat," he said in a much softer voice. "They all just—want to help, but it's not what _I_ want, so I'm just throwing a big—a big—" He couldn't finish.

Papyrus swung his feet a little, deliberating. Finally he said, "No, Mettaton. I—I don't think it's at all fair what they're doing to you. I think it's okay to be upset over this—I mean, if they stopped _me_ from working, I don't know what I'd do… But, um…" He exhaled. "I'm sorry that no one's been listening to you… I know what that's like. But I promise, you're not a brat, and you deserve to be able to feel the way you do."

Mettaton struggled not to bawl as his whole body shook and tears coursed down his face. He clapped his hands over his mouth, hoping the rush of emotion would pass soon so he wouldn't embarrass himself too much in front of Papyrus, but it seemed ceaseless.

Papyrus slid off the countertop and approached Mettaton cautiously, touching him gently on the shoulder. The robot slowly turned toward him, hiding his eyes as best he could.

Unsure of what else to do, Papyrus held out his arms and waited.

For a few seconds, Mettaton resisted, but the skeleton's kind words and his open, honest face broke through his defenses. Sobbing without restraint, he threw himself into Papyrus's arms and clutched him like a lifeline.

Papyrus stumbled back from the force at first, but he braced himself quickly, never letting go of Mettaton in the process. For as long as he held him, he said nothing, only offering silent comfort and safety, wishing he could do more.

The longer they stood there, the tighter Mettaton's embrace became. To him, it was a strange, yet oddly very familiar feeling; though the skeleton wasn't anywhere near the size of the old king and had no thick fur or even skin, Papyrus's hug felt just as all-encompassing and warm and secure as Asgore's did. It was as if pure goodness itself radiated out of his very bones.

Eventually, Mettaton's sobs died down, and he and Papyrus broke apart, leaning against the sinks. Mettaton wiped his eyes and smiled ruefully. "Sorry about that," he murmured. "It's just—it's really… nice to have someone listen, someone who _wants_ to listen…"

Papyrus nodded sadly. "Yeah… I imagine that would be nice." Then he straightened. "But anyway, Mettaton, if I may… could I give you some advice?"

Mettaton thought it over. "No forcing me to do anything?"

"None. Just me suggesting what I think you ought to do."

Mettaton sighed. "Go on."

"Well…" Papyrus thought over his word choices carefully. "First… while I think Alphys made some missteps in trying to care for you… I think you should still remember that that is what she is trying to do: care for you. And…" He debated on whether or not to say the next thing on his mind, and decided to go for it. "I think maybe you should consider apologizing to her for yelling at her in a restaurant full of people… though it's completely understandable, to me at least, why you would do so. But you don't have to that right away… or at all, if you really don't want to." He looked up to see Mettaton's reaction.

The robot seemed pensive, but not disagreeable. "Yeah… I think you might be right." He looked away. "Things have just… been kind of weird between us lately… I can't figure out a way to start conversations half the time."

"That's okay. I'm sure you'll figure it out, you're a smart cookie!" Papyrus assured him with a smile. "Now, I only have one more thing to suggest…"

"What's that?"

"I really… really think you should eat some of the meal Alphys wanted you to," the skeleton admitted. "She's right about that, you know. We monsters may not need the four main food groups like humans do, but it's still good for us to have a regular, well-balanced diet! It keeps our natural magic up." He smiled again. "So, what do you say?"

Mettaton smiled a little back. "I guess you're right again. I _am_ pretty hungry… didn't eat anything this morning. Or last night."

"Well, I suggest we get you back to the table as soon as possible, then!" Papyrus stood straight and offered Mettaton his hand.

"I'm alright, thanks," the robot declined gently, also standing. "And… thanks for coming back to talk to me, too."

"You're welcome! I'm glad it helped." Papyrus held the door open for Mettaton.

Side by side, they walked back to their friends.

Ω

"They've been gone for a while. Do you think they're okay?" Undyne asked Sans quietly, scooping up a bit of spaghetti onto her fork.

"I doubt they're gettin' into trouble or anything… but they'd better hurry up if they want hot food." Sans bit into his second slice of pepperoni pizza.

Alphys rolled one of her meatballs around on her plate wordlessly.

Undyne patted her shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, Alph. I think we should trust Papyrus this time… oh, shit. Here they are."

Alphys looked up anxiously as Mettaton took his seat beside her. He gave her a tentative smile before spreading his cloth napkin on his lap and taking a bite of his pasta.

It was still hot, and the meat sauce was rich and creamy. Though he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, he was a little glad that Alphys had picked this meal for him, and he ate most of it before he took a break.

"M-Mettaton—you don't have to stuff yourself, you know. If it's t-too much," Alphys told him quietly, though she was secretly glad that his appetite had seemed to return.

"It's okay, I'm actually pretty hungry. And this is good… thanks," Mettaton replied in an equally soft voice.

Alphys nodded and began to eat her food, her own appetite restored now that Mettaton seemed to be in a better mood.

Soon they were all finished, with Mettaton being the only person at the table who finished his entire plate, including all three of the big meatballs. After packing up their leftovers and paying the bill, they left the restaurant for a fun but relaxing afternoon, walking around the shops and buying little knickknacks that they didn't really need, but seemed cool to have anyway.

None of the shops were as high-class as what Mettaton was used to shopping at, but he didn't even really think about it; the only thing on his mind was some mixed feelings on what Alphys was trying to do for him, and, mostly, how sweet Papyrus had been.

The skeleton, as far as Mettaton knew, had had no ulterior motives in coming to look for him in that bathroom. He had offered only sympathy and a listening ear and even a shoulder to cry on, expecting nothing in return.

 _Devon was like that, too._

The thought struck him like a bolt out of the blue. Mettaton almost stopped short in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but he forced himself to keep up with the rest of the group.

Devon had been nice to him… Devon had offered his sympathy and listened to him and had even risked his career to help further Mettaton's at one point… and he'd acted like Mettaton had owed him nothing for it all.

But clearly, Devon actually _had_ considered Mettaton in debt to him after all, if that night was any indication.

Mettaton looked fearfully over at Papyrus. The skeleton was a few steps ahead of him, carrying his sleeping brother on his back. Every once in a while he adjusted himself, making sure Sans was safe and secure. Glancing back to see where Sans' head was positioned, he caught sight of Mettaton staring at him and smiled.

Mettaton's smile started off weak, then spread more genuinely. _Look how kind he is to his brother,_ he thought. _And he was nice to Blooky that one time, too, for no reason… and didn't he even convince Undyne to apologize to me that one time? He's just a nice person. Not every nice person is like Devon… right?_

While part of Mettaton wanted to give Papyrus the benefit of the doubt, other parts of him were frightened beyond belief that it was all just another ploy to gain his trust and then get something from him.

While the next couple of hours distracted him from his thoughts, they still lay in the back of his mind as they returned to their cars in the early evening.

"Alright, Sans, wake up, we're going home." Papyrus nudged his brother awake.

"Whuh—oh. Right. See you around, guys. Thanks for the good times." Sans saluted sloppily as he slid off Papyrus's back and got into their convertible.

"Yeah, the good times you slept through," Undyne snorted. She looked over Alphys and Mettaton. "You guys good?"

They both nodded silently.

Papyrus flapped his hands a little. "So, this weekend, Frisk wants to have us all over early so we can watch movies before and after supper… are you coming?" he asked Mettaton, hoping against hope he'd say yes.

"Well…" Mettaton thought it over. "I haven't been officially invited…"

"Ehh, you don't need to be. Frisk'll be over the moon if you show up, trust me," Undyne interrupted him. "Anyway, I gotta get going. Text me when you get home, okay, babe?" She leaned down and kissed Alphys. "And you—" She clapped a hand on Mettaton's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay? Don't be an idiot."

Mettaton rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I usually try not to be."

"Good." Undyne squeezed a little before letting go.

 _Is it just me, or is she actually concerned about me?_ thought Mettaton bemusedly.

Before she left, Undyne did some kind of weird bro-handshake with Papyrus. "See ya, Pap. Don't keep your brother up all night."

"I won't, Undyne." Papyrus watched her leave, then turned back to Mettaton. "I really hope you come. Anyway, I should get us home before Sans falls asleep again."

"Wait!" Mettaton burst out. "Here—give me your number." He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he pulled out his phone and handed it to the skeleton.

Papyrus froze. "You—you want my number?"

"Yeah—I mean. We're all supposed to be Frisk's big family, aren't we?" Mettaton shrugged. "So—I should probably have everyone's numbers."

"Oh! Oh—of course." Papyrus added himself as a new contact. "Here. I've filled in all of the information. That way, should one method of contacting me fail, you will always have another option."

"Thanks, hon." Mettaton took his phone back and smiled. "See you around, then."

"Bye, Mettaton! Bye, Alphys." Papyrus got into his car and drove away.

Alphys and Mettaton got into their own car and sat silently for a few minutes.

"A-Are—look, um—I'm sorry for—" Alphys eventually began.

Mettaton cut her off. "Don't worry about it. I'm—I'm fine." He knew now was just as good a time to apologize to her, but he couldn't get the words out. "Let's just go home."

Alphys sighed. "Okay." She started the car and looked over at him. "Can you… can you promise me you'll try to eat like that more often? When you're up to it, I mean…"

"Yeah… I'll try."

As they drove home, Mettaton stared out the window, thinking over how the day had gone. While it had had a really rocky start, and the fear that Papyrus's kindness was just a façade still bothered him, the meal and the shopping really hadn't been all that bad. He _had_ had some fun, in fact.

And there was an extent to which being out and about with his friends felt _healing._

He wasn't racking his brains trying to come up with ideas for a show or a new clothing design or a new song. He wasn't busting his ass trying to cooperate with difficult costars.

He was relaxing, eating good food, having a laugh, getting to know people he didn't get to see very often.

He could almost feel the cracks in his soul filling up.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: *posts this without checking for typos and prays I didn't make any*

new chapter! a little less cheerful than I originally thought it was going to be-but Papyrus successfully comforted Mettaton, even if the robot currently has some doubts about his reasons for doing so. Mettaton's got a lot of trust issues following what happened between him and Devon, so he's paranoid about even someone as genuinely kind as Papyrus.

this definitely isn't the last time he'll briefly let down the walls around his heart around him, though.

I think that's all I really have to say about this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed the boys interacting again, leave a comment or something if you did! and feel free to ask questions or make suggestions as well.


	14. Caps Lock

_**Trigger warning: brief use of drugs**_

 _Chapter 14 – Caps Lock_

Papyrus didn't sleep much that night.

For once, though, it wasn't just because of nightmares. He just couldn't stop thinking of what he had learned about Mettaton earlier that day.

The idea of celebrities—especially Mettaton—having problems and not being in full control of their lives was foreign to Papyrus. He'd always thought that having lots of money and friends and a good reputation would solve all your problems.

Mettaton had all those things. And yet, what Asgore had said about him several days ago seemed to ring more and more true each time Papyrus saw him: some kind of melancholy air constantly radiated off the robot.

 _Why_ was the biggest question. Papyrus seemed to have hit the nail on the head when he had blatantly asked Mettaton about child abuse, if the robot's reaction had been anything to go by—but now that he thought about it, that didn't make much sense. Everyone knew Mettaton had been created in Alphys's laboratory. He'd _had_ no childhood. And Alphys was certainly not the type to hurt Mettaton like someone people hurt their children, as Papyrus had been reading about.

So he'd looked up other problems celebrities could have, but he became so anxious about the results he found that he logged off his computer and ended up pacing around his room for nearly two hours, hoping Mettaton's problems were nothing close to what he'd found and wishing no one had to go through those things.

Above all else, Papyrus just wanted to help Mettaton… but Mettaton hadn't reacted well to his last attempt, and he didn't want to risk upsetting him or getting yelled at by the others again.

And if Papyrus was being honest… no one ever really needed his help, anyway.

If people wanted advice, they went to Asgore or Toriel. If they wanted self-defense tips, they talked to Undyne. If they had a question about some scientific matter, they called Alphys, or even Sans if she was unavailable. Even Frisk would be asked for help if there was a problem with human-monster relations.

Papyrus might be asked to babysit every once in a while, but no one ever wanted his opinion or advice on a problem they might have. Any time he came across the others talking about their difficulties, they either immediately clammed up when they noticed he was around, or they'd continue speaking in hushed whispers, thinking he couldn't hear.

Previously, Papyrus had liked to think—or pretend—that it was because he was so great and thus too intimidating to show weakness to. But as time went by, it became harder to deny that they all just thought he was dumb, and easier for him to believe that he really was.

At around three in the morning, Papyrus finally collapsed onto his bed, feeling like an elephant was sitting on his rib cage. Tears prickled in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

No one would ever take him seriously. Mettaton opening up to him today briefly was the closest he'd ever get to that. He'd just have to accept it.

He pulled the covers up to his chin and, after deliberating a minute, took a ragged stuffed teddy bear off his bedside table and hugged it to his chest.

Then he forced every thought out of his mind and went to sleep.

He dreamed of something new.

He lay on his stomach in a living room he did not recognize, but which seemed familiar. Colored crayons littered the floor around him, and he was using an orange one to draw a little figure next to two other figures, which were blue and black.

Then he heard a voice above him, one he had never heard before, but which said his name with such love and care, and filled him with excitement and adoration. "Papyrus! Did you draw that all by yourself?"

Papyrus looked up at a faceless being. For some reason, he was unable to speak, but that didn't matter. He smiled and nodded and held the picture up to the being.

Thought he could not read its expression, there was no denying that it was _proud_ of him. "You did such a good job! Would you like to help me hang it up on the fridge?"

Papyrus nodded again and held out his arms. The being picked him up, held him on its hip, and walked into the kitchen, where Papyrus helped it put the picture on the refrigerator with a magnet.

"Good job! You are so smart, Papyrus." The being booped his nose bone gently. "Don't you _ever_ forget that."

Papyrus happily threw his arms around the being's neck and snuggled into it. The being rubbed his back, then pulled back and gently tossed him into the air. Papyrus squealed with delight as it caught him and laughed. It threw him up again.

But the kitchen melted away into an infinite sea of iridescent gold, and now it wasn't Papyrus falling, it was the being, and it was already too far beyond his reach, too far for him to save. He could only stretch out, light reflecting blindingly off his arm plate, and scream as waves of gold swallowed the being whole.

Papyrus awoke with a gasp, clutching at his nightshirt just over his heart. He felt sweaty and exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all. He glanced over at his bedside clock. 3:49. He hadn't even been out for an hour.

He tried to recall what he had been dreaming about, but it was all fading fast. The only thing he could remember now was some voice telling him not to forget something.

He glanced at his clock again, and irritation overcame his confusion. He had to work a nine-hour shift today. He didn't need any of this.

He threw his blankets back, sending his teddy bear flying off the bed to hit his bedroom door. He stared at it a minute before standing and shoving it aside with his foot, then changing his mind and gently setting it back on his nightstand.

He decided to go turn on the TV in the living room quietly and hope he could find something to watch until he needed to get ready for work.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Papyrus had completely forgotten his dream.

Ω

Around 6:30, Sans came down for his first breakfast. "Hey, bro," he greeted Papyrus, who was sitting at the table picking at a plate of eggs and toast. When Papyrus did not greet him back, he turned from the pantry where he was digging around for Pop-Tarts and studied him. "Jeez, I don't think I've seen dark circles like that on you since high school."

Papyrus only glared, then focused on his breakfast. He did not want to think about high school.

Sans found the flavor of Pop-Tart he wanted and sat at the table to eat a package raw. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Yeah," Papyrus grumbled, not untruthfully.

"Doesn't look like you slept well."

"Just leave me alone."

"Alright." Sans finished one tart off silently, resigned to the fact that his little brother was going to be in a mood this morning. "You goin' in today?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno, maybe you're not feelin' well or something." Sans shrugged. "Just asking."

Papyrus grunted.

"Alright, what's up?" Sans shoved aside his other tart and leaned forward. "Don't say 'nothing' 'cause I'll know you're lying."

Papyrus scowled, but there was no real feeling behind it. Sighing, he said, "Fine. I… I had a dream last night, but I don't remember what it was."

"Do you remember anything about it at all?"

"No… I thought I did just after I woke up, but everything's gone now." Papyrus sounded troubled. "I feel like it was important."

"How so?" Sans asked, his metaphorical gut churning.

"I don't know… it was really vivid, I think? Like it had really happened or something." Papyrus looked at his brother, pleading for answers. "Do you think—maybe—?"

"I keep telling you, Russ, they're just dreams." Sans felt bad brushing him off, but being truthful would only raise more questions. "That's how our minds process the world. They don't always mean something."

Papyrus sensed that Sans was hiding information from him again, as usual. "Fine, then," he replied shortly, his bad mood returning. He shoved the rest of his mostly-untouched breakfast at Sans. "You can have this. I'm going to work." He stood and started for the stairway.

"It's not even seven."

Papyrus started up the stairs. "Then I'll take a drive."

"Okay. Stay safe. You want gas money?"

"I have a credit card, Sans!" Papyrus called grouchily from his room.

Sans flinched ever so slightly as his brother slammed his door closed. Papyrus seemed to get in these moods more and more often, and Sans was less and less sure how to handle them. Part of him was convinced that Papyrus was just being childish, but the other part of him knew it could be a sign of a deeper problem. Perhaps the same one he'd been struggling with since he'd been in grade school.

That was something he didn't really know how to handle, either. Papyrus rarely took suggestions from anyone unless he was sure it would make him popular; the only reason he'd gone with Sans to the doctor and gotten his medication was because one morning he'd woken up in such pain that he couldn't function.

Unless these moods started affecting his functioning, Papyrus would flat out refuse to acknowledge there was a problem. And Sans couldn't help him until he did.

Ω

As Papyrus brushed his teeth in the bathroom, his eyes kept drifting toward the medicine cabinet. He was in such a bad mood this morning, he felt like he could use a pick-me-up… but he really didn't like the thought of going in to work high. Someone might get suspicious if he looked unusually drowsy or calm, or said something weird (well, weirder than usual).

He decided to compromise by taking his prescribed dose, even though he didn't really need it at the moment. It would help him feel better, but it wouldn't get him high enough to make anyone suspicious, he told himself as he swallowed two tablets.

He dressed for work: a simple business shirt and pants and an eye-catching purple tie with yellow swirls to spice things up a bit. He packed up his briefcase, which never had much in it: just some identification, a few documents, a phone charger, a small first-aid kit, and spare house and car keys. He went back downstairs and packed a small lunch, thinking he was ignoring his brother the whole time until he turned around and realized Sans had teleported back to his room already, leaving an unfinished Pop-Tart on the table.

Papyrus sighed, regretting his earlier attitude as it had clearly affected Sans. But he was still too annoyed with him to apologize.

He settled for yelling a quick "I'm leaving, Sans!" up the stairs without waiting for a reply.

The second he got in his car, a wave of exhaustion rolled over Papyrus. He didn't want to go anywhere or do anything than maybe sleep. But he forced himself to start the engine. _Who are you, Sans?_ he scolded himself. _Besides, you need the money from your job._

His drive to work was uneventful until his head drooped and he almost ran a stop sign just a block away from his destination. "What is _wrong_ with you?" he demanded of himself out loud, shaking himself more awake.

What _was_ wrong with him? Sure, he'd gotten even less sleep than he usually did last night, but that was rarely a problem. He'd never almost fallen asleep at the wheel before.

By the time he parked in his usual space in front of the work building, he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He rubbed them angrily, then gave up. _I guess I need a nap this morning,_ he thought with a sigh. _I hope I don't have any more weird dreams…_ He picked up his phone to set an alarm.

Suddenly the phone buzzed in his hand. It was a text from someone he didn't know.

7: 28 AM - Hello Papyrus. What are you doing today?

Papyrus stared for a minute before responding.

7:32 AM - HELLO? WHO IS THIS? I DO NOT RECOGNIZE THIS NUMBER.

7:32 AM - Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to give you my number yesterday… this is Mettaton.

 _Mettaton!_ Papyrus's sleepiness was gone instantly. His favorite celebrity was talking to him! Of course, he'd have preferred if he had called instead of texting, since texting was a rather difficult and longwinded endeavor for him… but he'd manage.

7:35 AM - OH! METTATON! IT IS VERY NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU. I HAVE JUST ARRIVED AT WORK.

7:36 AM - Oh, then maybe I shouldn't bother you. Sorry, I just woke up early because I forgot I didn't have work today… I'll leave you alone then.

7:41 AM - PLEASE DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT! MY SHIFT DOES NOT START UNTIL NINE-THIRTY A.M. I ALSO WOKE UP EARLY AND DECIDED TO GET A HEAD START ON THINGS. ALTHOUGH PERHAPS I MADE TOO MUCH OF A HEAD START. THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE BUT ME.

7:42 AM - Oh, ok then. Do you mind if I keep texting you? No one else is up yet either, and I don't have anything else to do.

Papyrus did mind a little; his face was starting to ache from squinting at the letters on his phone. But there was no way he'd give up talking to Mettaton.

7:45 AM - OF COURSE I DO NOT MIND! YOU ARE QUITE WELCOME TO PAGE ME AT ANY TIME. EVEN THREE IN THE MORNING! SOMETIMES I AM STILL AWAKE.

7:45 AM - Haha, that's funny, sometimes I am too.

7:45 AM - Can I ask you something?

7:47 AM - ABSO-POSITIVELY-LUTELY!

7:47 AM - Haha, ok then.

7:47 AM - Do you realize you have caps lock on?

7:53 AM - OH, YES! I ALWAYS HAVE CAPS LOCK ON BECAUSE I IMAGINE THAT IT SOUNDS SIMILAR TO MY UPBEAT AND ENTHUSIASTIC TONE OF VOICE! I WANT EVERYONE WHO TALKS TO ME TO KNOW THAT I AM HAPPY AND EXCITED TO TALK TO THEM.

Papyrus didn't want to lie (even just partially), but there was no way he was telling his favorite celebrity that he had an unusually hard time reading lowercase letters—he'd probably look incredibly stupid. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his typing and added another message as quickly as he could.

7:59 AM - However, I realize that all capital letters are sometimes unreadable or perhaps off-putting to the more quiet-minded. So I do not mind switching to proper grammatical form if it is more comfortable for you to read.

8:00 AM - Oh no it's ok. I just thought maybe you hadn't noticed. You can keep using the caps.

Papyrus sighed in relief.

8:03 AM - EXCELLENT! I HOPE YOU CAN SENSE MY EAGERNESS TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY FORM HERE.

8:05 AM - *FROM HERE, MY APOLOGIES! I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE THAT MISTAKE.

8:05 AM - It's ok honey, everyone makes typos sometimes.

8:06 AM - So where do you work again?

8:15 AM - A PUZZLE FACTORY! WELL, A PUZZLE FACTORY OF SORTS. HUMANS DO NOT SEEM TO CARE FOR THE INTERACTIVE PUZZLES THAT MONSTERS BUILT WHILST WE WERE UNDERGROUND. HOWEVER, MANY OF THEM SEEM TO GREATLY ENJOY WORD PUZZLES PUBLISHED IN BOOKS! I WORK IN A FACTORY THAT CREATES THESE BOOKS. I AM PART OF THE TESTING DIVISION—WE ENSURE THAT THE PUZZLES HAVE PROPER SOLUTIONS AND THAT THERE ARE NO UNNECESSARY OR CONFUSING CLUES THAT WILL STOP PEOPLE FROM SOLVING THEM.

8:16 AM - Oh how nice! Didn't you say last dinner that you got promoted?

8:20 AM - YES! I AM NOW THE MANAGER OF MY DIVISION. IT IS QUITE AN HONOR, ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAVE BEEN WORKING THERE JUST UNDER A YEAR. THAT IS NOT CONSIDERED VERY LONG IN THIS KIND OF BUSINESS.

8:21 AM - Yeah I guess that's pretty impressive! How's it all working out for you so far?

8:24 AM - IT IS GOING VERY WELL! HOWEVER… THERE IS ONE THING BOTHERING ME, BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER.

8:24 AM - I'm sure it does. What is it?

8:33 AM - WELL… THERE IS THIS ONE MAN… HE SEEMS NICE, BUT HE DOES NOT WORK VERY HARD. I ALWAYS FIND HIM WITH HIS FEET UP ON THE DESK DRINKING COFFEE AND NOT DOING ANYTHING ELSE. HE DOES NOT SEEM TO LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TELL HIM HE SHOULD WORK, EITHER. SOMETIMES I HAVE TO DO HIS WORK SO HE MEETS HIS QUOTA SO HE WON'T GET IN TROUBLE! BUT I HAVE ONLY BEEN DOING THIS JOB A LITTLE WHILE. I THINK BEING NICE WILL HELP MOTIVATE HIM TO WORK HARDER.

8:35 AM - Hmm, maybe. You shouldn't have to do his work though. If he gets in trouble for being lazy, that's his fault.

8:40 AM - I AM SURE THERE IS A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR HIS BEHAVIOR! BESIDES, I DO NOT WANT TO GET ANYONE IN TROUBLE. I WOULD FEEL AWFUL, SEEING HIM GET YELLED AT WHEN I COULD HAVE SPARED HIM THAT. I DO NOT MIND DOING EXTRA WORK.

8:42 AM - Hmm ok then. I still don't think you should reward a person for being lazy, but you have your heart in the right place I guess.

8:45 AM - OF COURSE I DO! THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS HAS HIS HEART IN THE RIGHT PLACE. RIGHT UNDER THE CLAVICLE IN THE LEFT HALF OF MY RIB CAGE!

Mettaton did not reply for several minutes.

8:50 - AM WAS MY JOKE NOT FUNNY?

Mettaton was still silent. Papyrus began to worry he'd said something wrong.

8:58 - AM DID I OFFEND YOU SOMEHOW? I AM VERY SORRY.

Finally, Mettaton returned.

9:02 AM - Oh no darling! Alphys woke up and started talking to me. I'm sorry for making you worry.

9:02 AM - Your joke was very funny, I appreciate it.

9:04 AM - OH, GOOD! I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT.

9:08 AM - WELL, PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO ARRIVE HERE. I THINK IT'S TIME FOR ME TO GET A HEAD START ON WORK NOW! THANK YOU FOR TALKING TO ME. IT WAS VERY PLEASANT.

9:09 AM - No problem darling. Thank you for talking to me. I hope I'll see you and the others again soon.

9:12 AM - YOU SHOULD COME TO FRISK'S HOUSE THIS WEEKEND! I THINK I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU MORE OFTEN.

Papyrus gasped and started typing again furiously.

9:16 AM - I MEAN, *THEY* WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU MORE OFTEN! FRISK WOULD. NOT ME. I MEAN, I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU TOO. BUT PROBABLY NOT AS MUCH AS THEM.

9:16 AM - Haha ok hon. You have a nice day at work now.

9:18 AM - OKAY! YOU HAVE A NICE DAY TOO!

Papyrus felt significantly better after the exchange. He'd forgotten that Mettaton had asked for his information yesterday. Now the robot was already talking to him! And Papyrus hadn't even had to initiate anything!

He got out of his car and waved cheerfully to a couple of his coworkers, who smiled and waved back. He looked up to the completely cloudless blue sky, where the sun was shining brightly.

Despite the long previous night and the small spat with his brother earlier, Papyrus felt it was going to be a better day.

He walked into the building with a smile on his face and determination in his heart, ready for whatever life would throw at him today.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: hey guys!

today is a really special day. it's been one year since I posted the first chapter of this fic! it's been a huge journey developing the story to where I have it today. I really had no idea when I started this how much this fic would change and how much it would mean to me.

that's why I wanted to release another chapter today: to celebrate.

I hope you all enjoy! it's been a while since we last focused just on Papyrus; I feel I've been a little lax on that for several reasons, so here's a fix I guess.

remember to leave a comment if you liked it, or you have questions, suggestions, or criticisms! I love hearing your thoughts, they always encourage me to keep going!

hope you all are having good days!


	15. Hawke Talk

**_No trigger warnings this chapter._**

Like Papyrus, Mettaton did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for hours before falling into a fitful sleep, one that he kept waking up from again and again.

At least he wasn't having nightmares, he thought, trying to be optimistic.

Of course, he had thought it too soon. The next time he fell asleep, he dreamed he was back in his childhood home, and the ghost that was blacked out in the picture frame on his dresser was screaming at him.

When Mettaton awoke, he didn't try to go back to sleep again. Instead, he got up, pulled the picture out of its frame, and further desecrated the image of the ghost with a black marker.

He then looked sadly at the other two ghosts in the picture—the big red one and the little pink one. He gently kissed the red ghost. _I miss you… I wish you were here. You always helped me feel better._

He grimaced uncomfortably at the pink ghost—he couldn't believe how tiny he'd been back then—and slipped the picture back into the frame and set it down.

Dawn's light was just peeking through the windows as Mettaton slipped into the hallway and tiptoed toward the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Unfortunately, it seemed like the cupboards were only filled with ramen and stale cereal, as usual. However, in the fridge, Mettaton found Alphys's leftovers from lunch yesterday, and he decided she wouldn't mind if he got rid of them.

He slowly ate the cold ravioli, thinking over what had happened yesterday. He knew for sure he'd be embarrassed the next time he saw Papyrus—how could he have just done that, rant at him and then cry about it? Papyrus hadn't seemed fazed, but still. Mettaton was supposed to be calm and cool, not whiny and hysterical.

And yet… it _had_ felt pretty nice, being able to talk out his feelings for once. And Papyrus had actually seemed to listen and understand, he'd even said he'd known what it was like to have no one listen.

So maybe Mettaton wasn't really whiny or hysterical after all?

He didn't know what to think anymore. When he finished his meal, he threw away the container and washed his fork. Then he wondered what he could do to stave off boredom this early in the morning.

He studied his nails—did they need repainting? A little touch up couldn't hurt, he decided.

But that didn't take long. Before he knew it, Mettaton was bored again.

Social media? He quickly found that most people weren't posting at this hour.

Television? Nothing good was on at this hour.

Streaming services? He started looking through, but he could hardly begin to figure out what he would like.

At the end, he settled for lying on his bed again. He even tried to sleep—his last nightmare hadn't been that bad compared to the ones he usually had, so he figured it might be worth it.

Mettaton didn't move again until past seven. He was bored enough to open up the contacts on his phone, wondering if he should just randomly message some and hope they replied soon. He paused in his scrolling when he came across Papyrus's name. Maybe he would want to hang out today? Mettaton thought it was worth a shot.

7: 28 AM Hello Papyrus. What are you doing today?

He didn't expect Papyrus to answer anytime soon—he was probably still asleep. But to his surprise, he got an answer just a few minutes later.

7:32 AM HELLO? WHO IS THIS? I DO NOT RECOGNIZE THIS NUMBER.

Oh, whoops—Mettaton realized he hadn't given Papyrus his number back when he had asked for his.

7:32 AM Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to give you my number yesterday… this is Mettaton.

7:35 AM OH! METTATON! IT IS VERY NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU. I HAVE JUST ARRIVED AT WORK.

7:36 AM Oh, then maybe I shouldn't bother you. Sorry, I just woke up early because I forgot I didn't have work today… I'll leave you alone then.

Mettaton was disappointed, but he'd find something else to do, hopefully.

7:41 AM PLEASE DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT! MY SHIFT DOES NOT START UNTIL NINE-THIRTY A.M. I ALSO WOKE UP EARLY AND DECIDED TO GET A HEAD START ON THINGS. ALTHOUGH PERHAPS I MADE TOO MUCH OF A HEAD START. THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE BUT ME.

7:42 AM Oh, ok then. Do you mind if I keep texting you? No one else is up yet either, and I don't have anything else to do.

7:45 AM OF COURSE I DO NOT MIND! YOU ARE QUITE WELCOME TO PAGE ME AT ANY TIME. EVEN THREE IN THE MORNING! SOMETIMES I AM STILL AWAKE.

7:45 AM Haha, that's funny, sometimes I am too.

Was there a reason Papyrus kept typing in all caps? Mettaton found it just slightly off-putting.

7:45 AM Can I ask you something?

7:47 AM ABSO-POSITIVELY-LUTELY!

7:47 AM Haha, ok then.

7:47 AM Do you realize you have caps lock on?

7:53 AM OH, YES! I ALWAYS HAVE CAPS LOCK ON BECAUSE I IMAGINE THAT IT SOUNDS SIMILAR TO MY UPBEAT AND ENTHUSIASTIC TONE OF VOICE! I WANT EVERYONE WHO TALKS TO ME TO KNOW THAT I AM HAPPY AND EXCITED TO TALK TO THEM.

7:59 AM However, I realize that all capital letters are sometimes unreadable or perhaps off-putting to the more quiet-minded. So I do not mind switching to proper grammatical form if it is more comfortable for you to read.

Mettaton felt a little bad—he hated asking other people to hide their quirks and habits.

8:00 AM Oh no it's ok. I just thought maybe you hadn't noticed. You can keep using the caps.

8:03 AM EXCELLENT! I HOPE YOU CAN SENSE MY EAGERNESS TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY FORM HERE.

8:05 AM *FROM HERE, MY APOLOGIES! I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE THAT MISTAKE.

8:05 AM It's ok honey, everyone makes typos sometimes.

Mettaton took a quick second to think of a conversation topic.

8:06 AM So where do you work again?

8:15 AM A PUZZLE FACTORY! WELL, A PUZZLE FACTORY OF SORTS. HUMANS DO NOT SEEM TO CARE FOR THE INTERACTIVE PUZZLES THAT MONSTERS BUILT WHILST WE WERE UNDERGROUND. HOWEVER, MANY OF THEM SEEM TO GREATLY ENJOY WORD PUZZLES PUBLISHED IN BOOKS! I WORK IN A FACTORY THAT CREATES THESE BOOKS. I AM PART OF THE TESTING DIVISION—WE ENSURE THAT THE PUZZLES HAVE PROPER SOLUTIONS AND THAT THERE ARE NO UNNECESSARY OR CONFUSING CLUES THAT WILL STOP PEOPLE FROM SOLVING THEM.

8:16 AM Oh how nice! Didn't you say last dinner that you got promoted?

8:20 AM YES! I AM NOW THE MANAGER OF MY DIVISION. IT IS QUITE AN HONOR, ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAVE BEEN WORKING THERE JUST UNDER A YEAR. THAT IS NOT CONSIDERED VERY LONG IN THIS KIND OF BUSINESS.

8:21 AM Yeah I guess that's pretty impressive! How's it all working out for you so far?

8:24 AM IT IS GOING VERY WELL! HOWEVER… THERE IS ONE THING BOTHERING ME, BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER.

8:24 AM I'm sure it does. What is it?

8:33 AM WELL… THERE IS THIS ONE MAN… HE SEEMS NICE, BUT HE DOES NOT WORK VERY HARD. I ALWAYS FIND HIM WITH HIS FEET UP ON THE DESK DRINKING COFFEE AND NOT DOING ANYTHING ELSE. HE DOES NOT SEEM TO LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TELL HIM HE SHOULD WORK, EITHER. SOMETIMES I HAVE TO DO HIS WORK SO HE MEETS HIS QUOTA SO HE WON'T GET IN TROUBLE! BUT I HAVE ONLY BEEN DOING THIS JOB A LITTLE WHILE. I THINK BEING NICE WILL HELP MOTIVATE HIM TO WORK HARDER.

Well… Papyrus certainly had his heart in the right place, Mettaton thought, but he knew from experience that people would just take advantage of kindness. But he didn't want to dismiss what must be only natural for Papyrus.

8:35 AM Hmm, maybe. You shouldn't have to do his work though. If he gets in trouble for being lazy, that's his fault.

8:40 AM I AM SURE THERE IS A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR HIS BEHAVIOR! BESIDES, I DO NOT WANT TO GET ANYONE IN TROUBLE. I WOULD FEEL AWFUL, SEEING HIM GET YELLED AT WHEN I COULD HAVE SPARED HIM THAT. I DO NOT MIND DOING EXTRA WORK.

8:42 AM Hmm ok then. I still don't think you should reward a person for being lazy, but you have your heart in the right place I guess.

8:45 AM OF COURSE I DO! THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS HAS HIS HEART IN THE RIGHT PLACE. RIGHT UNDER THE CLAVICLE IN THE LEFT HALF OF MY RIB CAGE!

"Mettaton? What are you doing?"

Mettaton jumped. "Oh, hi, Alphys. Nothing much, really."

Alphys, standing in his doorway, looked very suspicious. "I hope you're not looking to go to work today."

Mettaton rolled his eyes. "Half my workplaces won't even let me on the premises currently. Of course I'm not looking to go to work today."

"Okay, fine. No need to get mouthy," Alphys mumbled. "Well… how are you feeling, anyway?"

"Bored. Interminably bored." Mettaton almost added something about wishing Alphys had just minded her own business, but he bit it back.

"Well, I have to go to work myself today, so I can't really help you with that." Alphys shrugged. "Well, actually… I could suggest some stuff, I guess… take a walk, maybe? Go meet some of the neighbors? Most of the people here are pretty normal, but a few are… interesting. Almost all of them ask when they can meet you… maybe go make a few of their dreams come true." She shrugged again and went into the kitchen.

Mettaton sighed and was about to start typing back to Papyrus when Alphys suddenly yelled, "Did you eat my leftovers?!"

"Maybe," Mettaton called back, sighing and getting up.

Alphys looked very put out when he got to the kitchen. "I was looking forward to having those."

"Well, I was hungry, that cereal is stale, and I can't stomach your microwave ramen. Sue me. Or go buy some real groceries."

"You could just as easily do that," retorted Alphys.

"Then maybe I will!" Mettaton turned on his heel and stomped back to his room, sulking. God, this was stupid to argue about. He started replying back to Papyrus, hoping the anger wasn't seeping into his messages. He found that Papyrus had been rather worried about his silence.

8:50 AM WAS MY JOKE NOT FUNNY?

8:58 AM DID I OFFEND YOU SOMEHOW? I AM VERY SORRY.

Mettaton began typing furiously to make up for it.

9:02 AM Oh no darling! Alphys woke up and started talking to me. I'm sorry for making you worry.

9:02 AM Your joke was very funny, I appreciate it.

9:04 AM OH, GOOD! I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT.

9:08 AM WELL, PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO ARRIVE HERE. I THINK IT'S TIME FOR ME TO GET A HEAD START ON WORK NOW! THANK YOU FOR TALKING TO ME. IT WAS VERY PLEASANT.

9:09 AM No problem darling. Thank you for talking to me. I hope I'll see you and the others again soon.

9:12 AM YOU SHOULD COME TO FRISK'S HOUSE THIS WEEKEND! I THINK I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU MORE OFTEN.

9:16 AM I MEAN, *THEY* WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU MORE OFTEN! FRISK WOULD. NOT ME. I MEAN, I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU TOO. BUT PROBABLY NOT AS MUCH AS THEM.

9:16 AM Haha ok hon. You have a nice day at work now.

9:18 AM OKAY! YOU HAVE A NICE DAY TOO!

Mettaton smiled as the conversation ended, pacified. Papyrus really was kind of a sweet guy… strange, but fun to talk to.

Now he felt like checking up on Napstablook again; hopefully they would actually talk to him today. But he got no answer when he knocked on the ghost's door, and when he opened it, he found it empty. Napstablook must have left for work early. Feeling rather disappointed, he closed the door and headed for the kitchen again.

There Mettaton found that Alphys had already left for work as well, likely so she could get breakfast at a fast-food place. Now he felt kind of bad… he really probably should have asked before eating her food.

Well, he decided he was going to solve their food problem right now, and make a grocery list. First he wrote down everything he knew he would eat—meats, pasta, sandwich ingredients, fresh cereal… and he was hankering for a bit of junk food, so he added chips and candy as well. Then he had another idea. What if he made a little dinner tonight to make up for eating Alphys's food? She would probably appreciate a nice homecooked meal. And it would show Napstablook that Mettaton was back to normal as well. He tried coming up with ideas, but in the end decided he'd just look around the store for something that looked good. He looked over his list and nodded. This was good; he should be able to get everything easy as pie, and finally he wouldn't have to scrounge around for something edible in the apartment.

However, shopping was not as easy as he expected. He'd never been in a grocery store before, and finding the food he wanted was like a scavenger hunt within a maze.

Being a celebrity made it even harder in some ways. For once, Mettaton wished people would stop looking at him. One store worker, when Mettaton had asked her where the pasta shelves were, had stared at him for a full ten seconds before asking him to repeat his question.

But once he figured out where everything was, it wasn't too bad. He got his healthy food. He couldn't decide what chips he wanted, so he got a family-sized bag of everything he liked. He did the same with candy and ice cream. He felt almost a little foolish, but he hadn't been having a good week. He deserved all this, he thought.

Finally, he decided what he wanted to make for dinner. The roast beef at the deli counter looked tantalizing, so he got two pounds of it. He chose rice and fresh green beans to serve with it.

He paid and loaded everything into his car, thinking the trip out must have taken several hours, hopefully most of the day. But the clock in his car only said 11:30.

Mettaton banged his forehead against the steering wheel. _Now_ what was he going to do for the rest of the day?

He drove home resignedly and took as much time as he could to put everything away. He had just finished when he heard a knock at the door.

Mettaton opened to see the little old lady he'd met in the elevator a couple of days ago. She gave him a big smile full of white teeth that were obviously dentures. "Melatonin! I'm so glad to see you're home today, dearie. I saw you with all those groceries, I thought I'd wait until you were done before coming to talk to you. You seem to be home more often, is everything alright?"

Mettaton shook his head, confused by the woman's fast-paced talking. "It's… Mettaton. And… yeah, everything's… okay." The last bit was a lie, but he wasn't going to pour out his troubles again like yesterday.

The woman looked at him suspiciously, as if she didn't believe him. But she seemed to let it go. "Well, alright then. But still, I just got done making some cookies, and I insist you come over to have some. I can't eat them all by myself, you know!" she laughed, turning around and heading back toward her apartment door. She stopped and looked at Mettaton expectantly. "Well?"

Mettaton started and hurried out of his apartment, following her into another apartment that was just as fancy as his, but much more homey-feeling. Pillows with stitched writing, air fresheners in the wall outlets, china dishes and glass figurines arranged carefully in a hutch—virtually everything you would expect to see in an old lady's living space. Mettaton even saw a little pet bed with a sleeping Yorkie that looked nearly as old as…

"What's your name again? Sorry, but… I was kind of—busy when we met last time," asked Mettaton.

"You can call me Mrs. Hawke, dear. Do sit down, the cookies are still cooling. I'll get you something to drink."

Mettaton's eyes roamed around the immaculate kitchen as Mrs. Hawke bustled around. Mrs. Hawke noticed as she gave him a glass of lemonade. "Don't go looking for wine or anything, I haven't got any. You young people and your alcohol…"

"Oh—I wasn't. Really. I don't drink anymore." Mettaton sipped his lemonade hurriedly.

"Anymore? What happened with that?"

"Uh… got very… tipsy one night," Mettaton muttered. "It didn't turn out so good… I swore off it after that." He hoped she didn't know the slight shake in his voice.

She did, but didn't press him. "Well, I'm proud. That's the smartest decision you young people can make, in my opinion."

Mettaton nodded uncertainly.

Things were quiet for a minute, then Mrs. Hawke rose and put a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of Mettaton. "Eat as many as you want, love. Nobody else will eat them but me."

Mettaton laughed a little. "But I haven't even had lunch yet." He started to get up. "I'll make something in my own apartment and come back."

"Nonsense! I have sandwich fixings right here. Do you like ham?"

"I guess." Mettaton sat back down resignedly. It seemed he was going to be here a while.

"So… Mettaton. Do you have any plans this evening?"

She wasn't going to ask him to stay for dinner too, was she? "Well, I'm making a dinner for my cousin Napstablook and my friend Alphys tonight, because I kind of upset her this morning," he admitted.

"Oh, that's nice… I've talked to Alphys. Are you and she together?"

"Togeth—no. No, we're not dating. Alphys has someone already and I'm ga—" He cleared his throat, not sure if he should reveal that.

"It's alright, dearie. Back in the day I dated a few women myself." Mrs. Hawke gave him a sandwich with a smile. "Eat up."

Mettaton smiled at Mrs. Hawke's revelation, then turned his attention to the sandwich. It was pretty good—fresh ham, lettuce, tomato, and a touch of mayonnaise. Mrs. Hawke had even put a few sticks of celery next to it.

When Mettaton was finished, he started on the cookies. They were still warm from the oven, the chocolate chips melting on his tongue, the cookie part soft and baked to perfection. He couldn't help but eat several. "So... what do you do, exactly?" Mettaton asked slowly between bites. "I don't recall seeing you around until a few days ago."

"Well, you haven't been around much, yourself!" Mrs. Hawke pointed out. "I've lived here for several years. My daughter is an actress like you, out in Australia. She pays all my monthly bills and rent, otherwise I could never afford to live here." She looked away almost sourly. "I wish _she_ could afford to come visit every once in a while. Or even just call." She sighed. "But she works too hard. Just like you."

"Well, now—" Mettaton pursed his lips indignantly. _"I_ wouldn't say I work too hard. I work as much as I want to."

"You really are the same." Mrs. Hawke laughed a little sadly. "She'd always insist that one of her greatest joys came from her work. Her other greatest joy came from family. And then she left that family behind, and it's like I hardly know her anymore." She looked at him. "Don't leave your family behind, Mettaton. Whatever is causing you to stay home more often—I hope it shows you how good it is to have family."

Mettaton didn't meet her gaze, but he smiled a little. "I think I've already learned that a little bit."

"Good." Mrs. Hawke sighed and sat back. "My son could use a lesson like that, too. Maybe even more than my daughter. _He_ really has no excuse, he lives right in town. But he's always been a bit of a loner… never married, never was an affectionate child. Sometimes I feel like leaving home made him happier than I ever could." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, you don't need to listen to the ramblings of a silly lady."

"No, it's alright," Mettaton assured her quietly. He was getting the feeling that Mrs. Hawke was a very lonely person. "Do you talk to the other neighbors?"

"Sometimes… but most of them are snooty rich people who think I don't belong here." Mrs. Hawke shrugged. "Perhaps I don't… but I'm here." She smiled at him suddenly. "This is the longest anyone's stayed over. It feels nice."

Mettaton himself felt strangely warm inside. Mrs. Hawke's pushiness came out of loneliness, certainly, but she made sure to back that loneliness up with kindness… and that was something he could appreciate.

Realizing he'd eaten nearly half the plate of cookies, he stood. "Thank you so much for the food and the talk, Mrs. Hawke, but I really should go home now and start preparing dinner. I got roast beef and it needs quite a while to cook."

"Right, right. You should go do that." She walked him over to the door. "And thank you… thank you very much for coming over." She patted his cheek. "Have I told you that you remind me of my daughter. Such pretty black hair and eyes."

Mettaton smiled, feeling strangely humble. "Thank you."

As he started preparing the roast beef back in his apartment, Mettaton thought over what Mrs. Hawke had said about work and family. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he was realizing how nice it was to have family… it was just as distracting for him as work was.

He smiled. Maybe he should see her more often—and stay longer. He'd stave off boredom and ugly thoughts, and he'd be helping a lonely old woman feel not so lonely. And that was exactly what he needed to feel a little better about himself.

Over the next few hours, Mettaton watched the meat with the television on in the background, and when evening came, he started steaming the rice, cooking the beans, and setting the table. Neither Alphys nor Napstablook were back by the time everything was ready, so he put all the food on the table and waited. He checked the clock—6:15.

Alphys didn't come home until nearly seven.

She dropped her work bag by the front door. "Hey, Mettaton."

"Hi, Alphie! How was work?" Mettaton asked, trying to keep his voice cheerful despite being frustrated with her lateness.

"Oh, you know. Science stuff. Not easy, but I love it." She shrugged. Then she noticed the food on the table. "W-What's all this?"

"Well, I felt kind of bad about eating your leftovers this morning… so I decided to make a nice dinner to make up for it. And I also went grocery shopping and got a ton of food, so we don't have to worry about starving anymore." He laughed a little. "Let me warm up the food, I put it out a while ago."

"Oh, uh… actually… I kind of already ate," admitted Alphys nervously.

"What? Oh… well… maybe Blooky will come home soon, then…" Mettaton tried to hide his disappointment.

He must have done a very bad job at it, because the next second Alphys said, "You know? It's actually okay. I only grabbed a bite when I left work, I could eat some more. It smells really good." She smiled tentatively.

Mettaton smiled bigger, warmed up the food, and served Alphys. He kept his own plate clean, wanting to wait for Napstablook. "Did you see Blooky this morning? I think they left even before you did." He frowned. "I wish they'd talk to me again."

"I think they were really scared by… what happened a couple of days ago," Alphys replied slowly, chewing on some meat. "They should get over it soon, though. Anyway, did you do anything else today other than shopping and cooking? You are supposed to be resting, after all."

"Oh, shut it," Mettaton snapped suddenly. Rest, rest, rest, he didn't _care_ about rest, he just wanted distraction. He tried to calm himself. "The neighbor lady, Mrs. Hawke, invited me over and made me a sandwich and cookies for lunch."

Alphys tried to ignore Mettaton's rudeness. "O-Oh yeah? How'd that go? She seems kind of strange, but nice. She's always offering me cookies, too."

"I think she's very lonely… she went on for a bit about how she never sees her kids anymore, and none of the other neighbors like talking to her. I like her, though. At least I think I do. I could get used to her manner, at least." He smiled suddenly. "She asked if you and I were dating."

Alphys choked on her food. "She _what?_ What did you say?!"

"I said we weren't, what else would I tell her?" He snorted. "I also kind of let slip that I'm gay… but it turns out she's dated women in the past herself, so she didn't care."

"Oh, wow. That's really cool, actually." Alphys smiled. Something she and Mrs. Hawke could bond over, she guessed.

"Yeah." Mettaton checked the clock, then the door. "Excuse me for a minute." He got up and retrieved his phone from his bedroom, deciding to text Napstablook and see where they were.

7:19 PM Hey Blooky. Where are you right now? I made dinner.

Within a few minutes, they responded.

7:23 PM Oh sorry… I decided to eat at Shyren's tonight. I'm sorry, I would have come if I'd known…

Mettaton sighed.

7:25 PM It's alright. I'll save some for you, there's plenty to spare. I hope you have a nice time at Shyren's.

He put his phone down, not bothering to wait for another response. Then he flounced back to the kitchen. "Blooky's not coming, they went to Shyren's." He began serving himself. "More for us, I guess."

"Yeah… more for us," Alphys said, sounding apologetic. "It is really good…"

Mettaton sighed again. Well, not everything could go perfectly. Despite this little disappointment, he really hadn't had a very bad day. The apartment had food, he'd made a new friend, he and Alphys were on fairly good terms again, and this meal was pretty good, if he did say so himself (and he did).

If that was the best Mettaton could do for now, he'd take it.


	16. Euphoria

_**Trigger warnings: drug use, being high in public, brief self-harm**_

The next few days passed much the same for Mettaton—he ran errands, cooked food, did chores, and talked to some of the neighbors. The neighbors seemed to be as Mrs. Hawke had described; though they were clearly happy to be living near and talking to a famous celebrity like himself, Mettaton got a rather haughty, snotty vibe off most of them. He quickly found that he vastly preferred the company of Mrs. Hawke to everyone else who lived nearby.

Mrs. Hawke was quite the worrywart, as it turned out—when Mettaton told her the reason he had for staying home, she began to hound him about calling a doctor to make sure he didn't have some kind of sickness, and insisted on coming over to inspect his apartment for "germs." She also gave him recipes for meals to boost his immune system and stave off depression. Mettaton did not have the heart to tell her that he didn't have an immune system and wasn't susceptible to germs.

Otherwise, Mettaton did manage to find enough to do that he forgot about his troubles for a bit. Which was why Devon texting him out of the blue on Saturday came as a bit of a shock.

He was eating some lunch when his phone buzzed the first time.

11:56 AM Hey Mettaton. What are you up to?

Mettaton chose not to answer at first. He still wasn't sure what he thought about Devon anymore.

His phone buzzed three more times in the next ten minutes.

12:00 PM Are you ignoring me? I know you're not doing anything lately.

12:04 PM Come on Metta. I'm just asking how you're doing.

12:06 PM You're making me feel bad.

Mettaton rolled his eyes and sighed.

12:08 PM Oh my god Devon I don't have my phone on me every minute. Give me a chance to reply.

12:09 PM For the record I'm perfectly fine.

12:11 PM Oh okay. Sorry. I just get worried you know.

12:15 PM I went and talked to the boss for you yesterday. Couldn't get him to change his mind though. I tried my best, sorry :(

Mettaton felt bad for being snippy suddenly. Devon had tried to help, just like he'd promised… and Mettaton didn't doubt that he'd tried his best. Devon could be _very_ persistent.

12:18 PM It's ok. Thanks for the effort. I think I'm alright for now though… past few days haven't been too bad.

12:20 PM Well I'm glad to hear that. I'm going to miss seeing you at work though :( it was my favorite thing of the whole day.

Mettaton stared at his phone, unsure of what to think.

12:21 PM Really?

12:23 PM Yeah, of course!

12:25 PM You're so beautiful, especially when you smile. And I loved the conversations we used to have. I don't find many people very interesting, but I always want to hear what you have to say.

Now Mettaton was blushing a little. Was this true? Did Devon really think that?

12:27 PM Oh, you're just flattering me.

12:30 PM No, really! I just adore everything about you :) that's why I'm so sorry I hurt you. You've still forgiven me, right?

For a second Mettaton floundered… his "forgiveness" earlier this week had been rather forced, but this conversation was quickly reminding him of just how sweet Devon had been… maybe things could go back to the way they used to be, if only Mettaton would allow them to.

12:36 PM Of course. I mean, you were one of my best friends before all that happened. I shouldn't have been so silly and paranoid about it all. I want things to go back to normal now. I'm sorry.

12:39 PM Oh wow, that's really nice to hear! I accept your apology. I'll have to see if I can visit you during some free time. I'd like to take you out somewhere nice.

12:41 PM That sounds fun! I can't wait :)

12:44 PM Alright well, I should get back to lunch before my break is over. I love you 3

Mettaton's heart skipped a beat, then he replied.

12:45 PM Thanks for checking up on me :)

It was a weak response, in his eyes, but he'd been caught off guard.

Feeling too giddy to continue eating, Mettaton went and collapsed on his bed, clutching his phone over his chest. Part of him was still uncertain— _he could just be flattering you to get on your good side again—_ but this was exactly how Devon had acted before the incident, and Mettaton's version of the incident seemed so unusual, so out of character for Devon now… who was to say it wasn't a mistake after all? Mettaton had been near blackout drunk, anyway, so there was no saying he'd remembered everything right. He knew how flirtatious he could be, so it was likely that Mettaton had just unwittingly seduced him and forgotten. If Devon really adored him as much as he said, nothing else would make sense.

Mettaton pushed all his bad thoughts away. Whatever "brokenness" he felt from the event was just his mind being silly. Things were going back to normal and he didn't need to worry anymore.

Devon said he loved him, and there was nothing to suggest that that wasn't true.

Right?

Ω

Early in the afternoon, Papyrus sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

God, he hated doing this. But in his mind, he didn't have a choice.

He got out, leaving his car parked parallel to the curb, and walked down a couple of blocks in the shabbier part of town. Eventually he came to a deserted alleyway, and there, he waited.

Soon enough a human man came by. After looking about surreptitiously, he slinked into the alley and nodded to Papyrus. "Nobody followed you?"

Papyrus shook his head.

"Got the cash?"

Papyrus pulled a rather sizable wad of money out of his pocket—two-hundred and twenty-five dollars.

The man tossed him a plastic bag with a month's worth of 10mg Percocet pills. "Great. Have fun." He pocketed Papyrus's money and walked off as soon as he was sure no one was there.

Papyrus breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the deal had gone well. But as soon as he began walking back to his car, the guilt set in.

Whenever he went to fulfill a deal, Papyrus told Sans and his friends that he was going to the library, or the auto-shop, or some other place that wouldn't make them suspicious. He hated lying to them, but if they knew what he was really doing, they'd try to take his medicine away, and he wasn't sure he could handle that.

He also felt guilty that he was paying so much money out of pocket for the pills. Insurance paid for what he got from the doctor, but it wasn't enough anymore, and it would look suspicious if Papyrus kept asking his doctor for the pills so often. That was why he'd resorted to finding a drug dealer last month. But insurance didn't pay for the dealer's pills, and Papyrus had no idea how he was going to explain the missing money to Sans, who usually balanced the checkbook for their household.

Back in his car, Papyrus sighed, pushing all the problems out of his mind. He'd find solutions when the time came; for now, he had what he needed. He drove home, struggling to repress any and all bad thoughts.

At home, he didn't even say hello to Sans before running upstairs to the bathroom and swallowing three tablets, then going to lie in his bedroom to wait for the high. Because of his very low body weight (bones didn't weigh much, after all) and the high dosage of the medication, it wasn't long before the pain in his ribs and limbs faded and his mind became fuzzy. He smiled, eyes closed. What was he worried about earlier? He couldn't remember anymore. He only knew warmth and quiet happiness.

Ω

Late that afternoon, Alphys returned home from a date with Undyne to find a rather dreamy Mettaton lying on the couch, looking at his phone. Over the past few hours, he'd kept periodically reading over his conversation with Devon, slowly convincing himself that things were going back to normal with him and thinking of what kinds of nice places Devon might want to take him to. He barely noticed Alphys standing over him.

"Hey, Mettaton. What are you doing?"

Mettaton jumped and turned his phone screen off. "Oh, uh, nothing. Just texting… someone. They, uh… said they want to take me out somewhere, sometime."

A big smile stretched across Alphys's face. "That's—that's fantastic! You could definitely use a little outing, I think. It'd be better than being holed up here, anyway, like you have been."

Alphys's enthusiasm quelled Mettaton's fears. Alphys was smart; if she thought going out was a good idea, then it must be!

"Who is this person?" Alphys continued.

"Oh… um, do you remember Devon?" Mettaton asked tentatively.

Alphys frowned. "Devon… the guy who abandoned you to get beat up and mugged after that party months ago? You're talking to him again?"

"What?" Mettaton had briefly forgotten the lie he'd told her to explain why they hadn't been speaking. "I mean, yeah. That's him. We are talking again. He's, uh… he's really sorry. And honestly, I can't blame him for—for that—leaving me—I mean, we were both terrified. If I'd been smart, I'd have tried to use magic. It was just instinct for him to run, you know? So I've forgiven him. He wants to take me out again. I think it's a peace offering or something. Or else he just wants to spend time with me again," he rambled nervously, not meeting her eyes. "We haven't made any real plans yet, but I'm looking forward to… doing something."

"Hm… okay, then. As l-long as you've really forgiven him, you know? I hope you guys have fun!" Alphys tried to look happy for him. "Oh, uh… where's Napstablook been?"

"Just hanging in their room all day," Mettaton sighed, though he was glad for a change of subject. "Still not really talking to me much."

"Have you tried talking to them about what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean, what's going on with me? They already know, what's the point?" Mettaton was irritable now. "If they don't want to talk, then fine, whatever. I don't care."

His tone proved to Alphys that he cared very much. "Well… maybe _I'll_ say something to them, then. I-I don't know. But not right now. It's almost time to leave for Toriel's. You'd better get dressed for it," she said as she started for her bedroom. "I heard Frisk wants to do something special after we eat."

Something special? That sounded intriguing. Mettaton got up and headed for his own bedroom, pausing outside Napstablook's door. After hesitating a moment, he knocked gently.

In a minute, the ghost slowly opened the door, shyly peeking out at Mettaton.

"Hey, Blooky. I don't know if you heard, but we're leaving to go to Frisk's soon, and Alphys said they want to do something special. You should probably get ready to go." Mettaton smiled encouragingly.

Napstablook nodded wordlessly and closed the door.

The smile dropped from Mettaton's face. How long was he going to get the silent treatment from his cousin? It had been five days since his little meltdown, they couldn't still be scared of him, could they?

He grumbled to himself quietly as he pulled on a pink fluffy sweater in his room, wishing the ghost would get over themself for once.

Fortunately, Alphys made him drive over to Toriel's, and as he focused on the road, he forgot about his troubles and began looking forward to seeing Frisk and the others again. Something special, hm? He couldn't wait to find out what it was.

Ω

Papyrus didn't realize how much time had passed until Sans was knocking on his bedroom door. "Pap? It's almost five, dinner at Tori's starts at five-thirty. You comin' or what?"

Papyrus didn't answer for several seconds, slowly processing what Sans had just said. There was a dinner tonight? Wait, was it Saturday? It had to be, dinners hardly ever happened on other days of the week… "'M coming," he mumbled, sitting up with difficulty and going to open the door, vaguely hoping Sans didn't notice anything off.

Sans noticed something was off about Papyrus—his movements were sluggish, and his eyes seemed far away, as if he were dreaming. His clothes looked rumpled, too… had he been napping? Papyrus never napped. "You feelin' alright?"

Papyrus stopped in his tracks and turned to Sans with a big, completely vacant smile. "I feel just wonderful, brother."

Sans stared. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Papyrus act like this, but it still wasn't normal, wasn't right. "Well… are you gonna change your clothes? They're pretty wrinkled."

Papyrus looked down at his clothing. "I dunno. I think I look alright."

That was the wrong answer for Sans—Papyrus never went out with wrinkled clothes. When Papyrus had gone downstairs, he slipped into the bathroom and found the bottle of pills that they had picked up at the pharmacy just a few days ago. He was surprised to find the bottle mostly full—evidently this wasn't what was making Papyrus act so funny. He put the bottle back and went to join his brother, still disturbed.

Papyrus began to head for the car, but Sans caught his arm. "Maybe we should walk. Nice day out today."

Papyrus looked at the sky, staring straight into the sun as if he were only just seeing it for the first time. "Is it…? Yes, it is. Yes, you're right, Sans, let's walk!" He moved forward, his movements strangely smooth and calm, not jerky and purposeful as they usually were. Sans scratched his skull and went to catch up to Papyrus, for once not having to hurry to keep up the pace.

They arrived at the house a little later than everyone else. Inside, Papyrus caught sight of Mettaton, who waved and smiled at him. After staring for a few seconds, Papyrus launched forward and threw his arms around the robot. "I'm so happy to see you!" he cried, tears starting to fall down his cheekbones.

Mettaton, completely confused, carefully returned the hug and patted his back, glancing down at Sans.

Sans shrugged helplessly. "He's been acting a little weird today. Just go with it."

Toriel raised an eyebrow as she walked past Mettaton and Papyrus, but said nothing to them. "Alright, everyone! Pizza's outside on the picnic table. After we eat, Frisk wants to watch a movie, so let's try and finish up as soon as we can, hm?"

Everyone murmured agreement and headed into the backyard, where several boxes of steaming hot pizza sat waiting for them. Papyrus followed Mettaton very closely until Sans pulled him away. "What are you doin', Russ? Give him some space."

"Oh—oh, yes. Right. Space… space. I like space. It has lots of bright stars." Papyrus stopped in his tracks and looked up at the sky. "Mettaton is a bright star."

"He sure is, bro. Let's focus on getting some food, though."

Papyrus nodded contentedly and followed his brother, who handed him two slices of veggie pizza on a paper plate when he got to the pizza box. Immediately Papyrus picked up one slice in a gloved hand and bit into it, unfazed by the temperature.

Undyne, who was standing next to him, nudged. "Hey, uh, you wanna sit down while you eat that? And don't you usually use a fork for that or something?"

Papyrus shrugged, continuing to munch without a care.

"Okay…" Undyne gradually guided him to the bench at the picnic table and got him to sit. "You're acting really funny. What are you, high?"

Sans looked at her quite sharply. She was mostly jesting, he knew, but it disturbed him. He thought he'd already ruled out the medication as a source for Papyrus's stranger-than-usual behavior, but he really couldn't think of anything else that could be causing it, especially now that other people were picking up on it. Did Papyrus have extra medication hidden somewhere? No, that was impossible; Sans had been there every time Papyrus had refilled a prescription. He would have noticed Papyrus asking for or getting extra medication.

Still… he decided to confront Papyrus when he was back to normal.

Other than Papyrus eating food with his hands, something he would normally abhor, dinnertime passed by uneventfully, and soon Frisk was pushing everyone to finish up and head into the living room. When they had cleaned up the food and were seated comfortably in front of the television, Toriel put on the movie Frisk had chosen.

"Hey! I know this one!" Papyrus said loudly as it began. He and Frisk had watched it many times before while he and Sans babysat them and Flowey—a live-action Disney movie about Cinderella.

Everyone shushed him, but he was only silent for a minutes before he began crying at the death of the mother. Frisk and Flowey glanced back at him, concerned—the scene had saddened Papyrus before, but he had never bawled like _this._ Frisk patted him gently on the knee before turning their attention back to the movie.

Over the course of the movie, Papyrus could finally feel the effects of the medication wearing off—though he sobbed a little again at the death of Cinderella's father, and had to resist the urge to throw a pillow at the screen when Cinderella's stepmother tore her dress. By the end of the movie he was nearly back to his normal self.

Everyone went back to socializing before they went home, and Papyrus was surprised to hear Mettaton chattering about the movie to Alphys. "That was a wonderful little film! You know, I was almost a little disappointed when I learned that the 'special thing' Frisk wanted to do was just watch a movie, but that was way better than I expected. 'Have courage and be kind,' what a sweet tagline. And that dress! My god, I have to design something based on that right away!"

Papyrus didn't hear any more as Undyne caught his attention, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "You doin' okay, Pap?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Papyrus asked, confused.

"You were acting weird earlier. Almost like you were high or something!" Undyne laughed at the ridiculousness of that thought.

High…? Oh, god.

Papyrus laughed weakly. "Yes, I, uh…" he trailed off as he caught sight of Sans. His brother was listening to Toriel, but his eyes were squarely on Papyrus.

"You what?" Undyne prompted.

Papyrus jumped. "Oh, yes! I—I tried coffee early this afternoon. Clearly it did not agree with me. I definitely won't be trying that again!" he lied, hoping the weak explanation would satisfy Undyne.

"Coffee?" She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, dude, the last thing you need is caffeine. No wonder you were so emotional during that movie. Definitely don't drink that stuff anymore! And stay away from energy drinks, too."

"Haha, of course." Papyrus didn't get to say anything else, because Sans was tugging on his arm.

"Hey, Russ, let's get goin'. I'm sleepy."

"You're always sleepy, Sans," Papyrus scolded. "But alright. Let's go out to the car, then. Bye, Undyne."

"Uh, Pap? We didn't use the car," Sans reminded him.

"We didn't?"

"Nope."

If he'd had a stomach, Papyrus would have felt a pit in it. "Oh. Right. Well, let's get walking, then."

They did so after saying goodbye to everyone else. Both brothers were completely silent until they reached their house. As soon as they were inside, Papyrus tried to take evasive action and go upstairs, but it was too late.

"Did you take your meds today?"

Papyrus stopped in the middle of the stairs and didn't answer at first, trying to decide if he should lie or not, but the pause itself gave Sans his answer.

"You couldn't possibly be getting high off your prescribed dose. Papyrus, are you taking more than what the doctor said?"

"That's none of your business, Sans! But for the record, no, I am _not_ taking more than what I need!" It wasn't really a lie, in Papyrus's mind; he was taking exactly what he needed to feel happy, right?

"What the doctor says you need and what you _think_ you need could be two totally different things." Sans set one foot on the bottom stair. For once in his life, upset and concern showed clearly on his face. "Talk to me, Pap. I'm not angry at you, I just want to help."

"I don't _need_ your help!" Papyrus stomped further upstairs. "I'm _fine!"_

Sans followed him. "Papyrus, I told you, that stuff is addictive. That's why I didn't like you gettin' it in the first place. It's _dangerous._ I don't want you to get hurt."

"Am I not capable of taking care of myself, Sans?" Papyrus reached his bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it. "Leave me _alone!"_

Sans sighed, but he couldn't let himself be defeated. He hated doing this, but…

He teleported into Papyrus's room. "Pap, I want you to show me all the meds you have. _All_ of them," he said, heavily suspecting he'd been stashing pills away somewhere.

" _Sans!"_ Papyrus shrieked, backing up against the door. "What are you—go away! I don't have to prove anything to you!"

"Papyrus, I'm just tryin' to help! Okay? Just show me what you have, and we'll figure it out."

Papyrus unlocked the door behind him and leaped forward, grabbing Sans' shoulder so he could push him out of the room. "I don't want your help! Just go AWAY!"

Sans fought him, bracing himself against the doorframe. "Pap, listen—!"

"GO AWAY!" Tears were streaming down Papyrus's face as he panicked. "GO AWAY!" He successfully got Sans out of the room and locked the door again.

Sans stood outside the door. He could actually feel a bit of hot anger in his chest. Didn't Papyrus trust him? Why was he acting so belligerent over this, did he think Sans was going to be angry or punish him or hurt him for it?

Well, if this was how he was going to be treated for caring, then maybe it wasn't worth caring about. Papyrus could do what he wanted. Finally defeated, Sans went to his own room, wondering if this was the breaking point for his relationship with his brother.

Papyrus, meanwhile, sat on the floor of his bedroom and cried. He was beyond aggravated and disappointed in himself—he'd been careless with his medication, been high in front of his whole family, and been upset in front of Sans. Sans didn't need this, he didn't need to deal with Papyrus's problems. What if this changed things between them? How could he have been so _stupid?_

Papyrus slipped his fingers between his teeth and bit.

Hard.

 **oooooooooo**

hey, guys. sorry for the very long wait between chapters. usually I upload to AO3 first and then here, but I honestly find this site really user unfriendly in some ways and it kind of turned me off from posting here for a bit. but I thought that wasn't fair to you guys who use this site more than AO3 and might not know this story's been posted anywhere else. so I'll try to remember to come and post here after I hit up AO3. hope you enjoyed reading these past couple of chapters, and I'll hopefully have another one up soon.


	17. Smile

By the next weekend, Mettaton was not a happy camper.

He was lying shirtless on the examination table in Alphys's lab, a number of wires plugged into his chest. "I still don't see why we have to do this every freaking week, Alphys. My condition or whatever can't possibly change that much in just a few days," he complained as she checked machines and wrote down numbers.

"You'd be surprised. The way you are right now, if you caught a bug or something, we'd know pretty fast," she replied, flipping off the machines.

"'The way I am right now'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"To put it bluntly? If you'd kept going on for much longer, you'd have literally worked yourself to death. Or at least into serious illness." Alphys unplugged Mettaton and let him sit up, closing his chest compartment. "You were exhausting yourself, Metta. And your condition was starting to deteriorate fast. That's—that's why I insist on doing checkups every week now, to make sure it's not getting worse."

"Is it getting worse?" Mettaton asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Alphys frowned and turned to the notes she'd taken. "Not—no, it's not getting worse, really… but it's not improving, either. W-Which is a little strange, considering you've been resting… or you're supposed to be." She squinted at him, suspicious.

"Alphys, I haven't even looked in the direction of my workplaces since I got laid off."

"Don't be dramatic. You weren't laid off, it's just forced leave. You'll be back to working in a few months—but it's—it's gonna be different this time. You are _not_ going to be pulling hundred-hour work weeks again." She sighed. "Anyway… it's only been a little over a week, maybe I shouldn't be expecting much progress in your condition right now." She looked up at some of the books stacked haphazardly on her desk. "Maybe you should start taking a strengthening potion. That might help."

"I'm not taking any damn potions." Mettaton got up and started for his room, annoyed. "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

Alphys sighed again, exasperated by his obstinacy. "I'm just trying to take care of you."

Mettaton turned around in the doorway. "Look, you want to take care of me? Start working on those waterproofing plans again! I'm practically a disaster waiting to happen near water."

"I've been trying, but it's really difficult without your blueprints! I've had to start them over from scratch—and I won't be able to work on the waterproofing again until that's done. A-and even with the blueprints it'd be hard. It can't interfere with your cooling system, and you'd probably prefer it be comfortable, too," Alphys defended.

"Excuses, excuses. It's only my life we're talking about." Mettaton rolled his eyes. "Can we at least do that water-resistance spell thing soon? I'd really like to be able to join in on Frisk's little pool parties."

"Yeah—yeah, okay. That's definitely not a bad idea. I'll text Toriel and Asgore right now—having both of them do it will strengthen the spell significantly, considering they're both boss monsters." Alphys pulled her phone out of her pocket, then paused. "But remember, it's only a water _resistance_ spell. You can't submerge yourself in water or the spell will wear off way faster than it's supposed to. You'd probably be able to dip your legs in at most."

Mettaton swore under his breath and left for his room. Falling on his bed, he let the cool sheets soothe his skin, hot from irritation, and tried to calm down.

Frisk was having one of their "little pool parties" later today, and Mettaton had originally figured he wouldn't really be able to join everyone in swimming. Knowing he was close to being able to swim, but couldn't yet, made him feel worse about it. He'd still have to watch himself around the water, and he still wouldn't be able to do anything the others could.

After a few minutes, Alphys came to his door and said, "Toriel and Asgore said they can perform the spell if we come early today and I bring the book with the incantation."

Mettaton grunted.

Alphys closed the door without another word.

Mettaton felt a little bad, but not enough to go apologize, figuring he deserved to be a little grumpy considering his situation.

His mood lifted a little when he and Alphys and Napstablook had to leave for Frisk's. Alphys drove and Napstablook sat next to Mettaton in the car, smiling kindly at him.

One good thing over the past week was that Blooky was warming up to Mettaton again, to the point where they had asked if Mettaton wanted to write some music with them yesterday. Mettaton had accepted enthusiastically, and that day had turned out to be one of his better ones. Now, Blooky's smile seemed to calm the storm in Mettaton's soul. By the time they got to Frisk's, he hardly cared about not being able to swim.

Frisk was excited to see Mettaton, and Toriel seemed pleased as well. She told him that Asgore should be along shortly so they could perform the spell and then offered him some salty potato chips, which he happily accepted, and proceeded to eat half the bag.

Alphys watched him with amusement. "So you'll eat when it's junk food, huh?"

"Oh, leave me alone," Mettaton retorted, shoving more chips in his mouth.

Soon enough, Asgore arrived, and he, Toriel, Mettaton, and Alphys went into another room. Alphys asked Asgore and Toriel to place a hand on each of Mettaton's shoulders, then showed them the incantation for the spell in the book she had brought. As the boss monsters recited the spell, Mettaton felt a chill wash over him, and he shuddered slightly.

"Okay, Mettaton, you're now water resistant!" Alphys said cheerfully when the goat monsters were finished with the incantation. "Remember what I said, you can dip your legs in, and you shouldn't malfunction if you get splashed a little. Just don't fall in."

"Right. Thank you, Toriel, Asgore." Mettaton smiled, genuinely grateful for this small protection they had bestowed upon him.

"We'll have to renew the charm every few weeks. H-Hopefully it won't take too much out of you," Alphys continued, looking to the boss monsters.

Toriel smiled warmly. "It was no trouble at all. Bring him here any time and I will gladly help."

Alphys blushed and nodded, swallowing hard.

Mettaton picked up the bag he had brought with his bathing suit and went to the bathroom. As he changed into his suit, he thought over things and decided that while he was disappointed at not being able to participate like the others, he could still try and keep up a grateful attitude for the Dreemurrs and a happy disposition for Frisk. He was sure the child would find some way to make it fun for him, too.

Ω

For a while after Sans confronted him, Papyrus tried to avoid taking his medication. He was determined not to make such a horrible mistake again. Within a couple of days, however, he was already giving in, his cravings and the beginnings of withdrawal too much for him to handle.

He and Sans had been largely uncommunicative since their argument, only acknowledging each other in the mornings with a nod of the head or occasionally yelling that they were going out for some reason. Otherwise, neither of them bothered to even ask the other how his day had been.

Papyrus felt bad about it, but Sans' terrifying persistence and violation of Papyrus's privacy convinced him that distancing himself from his brother was for the best, at least for now. As long as he carefully picked the times he took his medication, he wouldn't have to worry about Sans interfering again, or about accidentally getting high in front of the others.

Sans, meanwhile, had to fight the urge to watch Papyrus like a hawk. He didn't care anymore, he tried to tell himself. Papyrus had utterly rejected his offer of help and there was nothing he could do about it. But at the end of the day, Sans could never help but worry a little for his baby brother. Papyrus wasn't stupid, he knew, but he was so impressionable, so desperate to be liked... was he getting high to be "cool" like other young adults his age? Or was there another reason Sans didn't know about? One way or another, something obviously wasn't right. Sans wondered if he should tell Toriel or someone else who could advise him.

Over the course of the week, both of the brothers periodically mulled over what had happened. Papyrus took his medication and checked on his phalanges, which had deeper cracks than usual from his last bout of biting. Sans did his usual lazing about, though he'd sometimes watch or listen for his brother as he pretended to nap. All in all, until the weekend, the days passed by uneventfully.

Papyrus almost forgot his troubles by Saturday. It was going to be a warmer day than usual, and Frisk wanted everyone to come to their house early so they could all play in the pool. Papyrus was beyond excited for it; back in the Underground, swimming hadn't been much of a thing unless you wanted to paddle about blindly in Waterfall's dark waters. Now they could really play games and have fun! Even Sans enjoyed paddling around as long as he could hold on to a pool noodle or wear some floaties.

Even without his medication, Papyrus was in a good enough mood in the afternoon that he offered to carry Sans down to the house. Sans, relieved that his brother was talking to him again, accepted without a second thought. The brothers were greeted enthusiastically at the door by Frisk and ushered into the backyard almost immediately. Papyrus set Sans down on the deck and allowed Frisk to pull him over to the pool, promising them that he would jump off the diving board first thing.

However, Papyrus was distracted from his diving endeavors by the sight of Mettaton in a pink bikini and sunglasses, lazily soaking up the sun in a reclining beach chair. The skeleton could practically feel his face go orange—he'd never expected to see so much of Mettaton on TV, let alone in person.

As if he could feel Papyrus's eyes on him, Mettaton lifted his sunglasses and waved his fingers at him.

Papyrus jumped as though he'd been struck by lightning and turned away, deeply embarrassed to have been caught staring. But Mettaton wasn't done with him yet.

"Come here, darling. It's so nice to see you again."

Papyrus came over apprehensively and sat in the chair next to Mettaton. "…hi," he croaked.

Mettaton smirked ever so slightly. "Like what you see?"

"Well, I—I—" Papyrus stammered, then cleared his throat. "I think you are very—very nice to look at."

The robot laughed glamorously. "I was only teasing, sweetheart, but I'm glad you think so." He stretched luxuriously, causing Papyrus to blush again. "Are you feeling better?"

"Better? Better than what?"

"Well, last week you were acting so strange… we were all a bit worried." Mettaton's voice did hold a note of concern.

"Oh… yes, yes, I'm feeling better," Papyrus replied, feeling a pit in his abdominal region. "I, uh… wasn't feeling well."

"Clearly not." Mettaton nodded. Then he looked over Papyrus's shoulder. "I think someone's waiting for you to take a dive, Papy."

Papyrus turned and saw Frisk standing expectantly behind him.

"Oh… can I call you that?"

Papyrus whirled around again. "What?"

"Is it alright if I call you Papy?" Mettaton asked again.

 _Papy._ That was a new nickname… it made Papyrus feel giddy. He puffed out his chest. "You may call me whatever you like!"

"Okay, Papy." Mettaton smiled and flicked his sunglasses back down.

Papyrus exhaled and went to the diving board, Frisk at his heels. He stood at the edge of the board and bounced slightly, looking over the water.

"Get going already!" a new voice called out, and Papyrus saw Undyne, grinning, standing at the edge of the pool.

Feeling a grin break across his own face, the skeleton bounced a few more times and did a spectacular backflip into the water. As he came back up, he heard clapping.

"Nice one!" Mettaton's metallic tenor voice rang.

Papyrus blushed. "The Great Papyrus only does the best tricks!" he replied as he swam to the ladder to say hello to Undyne.

His best friend clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a bear hug that left his bones aching. Already Papyrus could tell he'd need medication when he got home.

"Hey, Metta-butt. Nice suit," Undyne aimed at Mettaton, smirking slightly.

"Thanks, Undies. It's Louis Vuitton," Mettaton shot back, unable to keep himself from bragging a little.

"I have no idea what that is."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"That supposed to mean something?"

"Alright, that's enough, you two!" Papyrus stood between the two and held his arms out. "You can't fight again! I won't allow it!"

"Whatever, man. Come on, I wanna swim!" With that, Undyne picked Papyrus up and threw him into the pool, jumping in right after.

For a while Frisk and their friends swam, had chicken fights, and played games. At one point, Undyne caused a humongous splash that would have drenched Mettaton if he hadn't been watching and rolled out of the way. _"Hey!"_ he screamed, putting up his arms in case more water was coming. "Be _careful!"_

"Don't be such a baby! Swimsuits are made to get wet," Undyne brushed him off.

"Swimsuits may be, but _I'm_ not," Mettaton grouched, brushing dirt off himself. "Alphys hasn't waterproofed me yet."

"Oh." Undyne's voice was much quieter as she realized how badly she could have hurt him. "Sorry."

"You should be." Mettaton wiped off his chair with a towel and lay back down, crossing his arms. Evidently his bad mood was back.

Undyne let the matter go, but Papyrus couldn't help but notice how down Mettaton seemed. He climbed out of the pool and sat beside him as he had earlier, picking at the hem of his swim-shirt and wondering what he should say.

Mettaton sighed. "You don't have to miss out on the fun for me, darling. You can go with the others."

Papyrus crossed his arms. "It's not fair that _you_ have to miss out, though…"

"I don't mind, honey, really," Mettaton said, though he sounded entirely unconvinced.

Papyrus sat back in his chair, trying not to wince as his bones ached. "It's okay. I need a rest anyway."

Mettaton shrugged. "Suit yourself."

After a long pause, during which Papyrus tapped his feet awkwardly, the skeleton said, "So… what have you been up to lately?"

After another long pause, Mettaton sighed. "Not nearly as much as I'd like to be doing."

Papyrus nodded slowly. "I believe I can relate to that feeling. Sometimes I feel like there isn't enough to do in a day."

"Trust me, there isn't. I talk to the neighbors and cook and sometimes read… and sleep. And that's it."

Papyrus made a face. "That sounds like a terribly boring existence… no offense meant."

"Oh, none taken at all, Papy. It _is_ terribly boring. All I want to do is go back to work. It was exciting and just… filled me with joy." Mettaton sighed again.

"Well… if you want something to do on Sundays, you could always join me and Undyne on our morning runs!" Papyrus offered, smiling. "And in the afternoons, we do sparring practice in her backyard."

"Mmm… thanks for the offer, darling, but Undyne and I… we're really not the best of friends. Running sounds like a nice idea, though."

Papyrus shuffled his feet, disappointed. But he tried to take it in stride. "It is very nice! You just put on your headphones and start your music, and as long as you know where you're going, you don't even hardly have to think anymore!"

"That _is_ nice… hm." Maybe Mettaton really would try it on his own. "So what have _you_ been up to as of late?"

Papyrus tried to think… what had he done lately besides go to work, take his meds, and avoid Sans? "Well… I have this old motorcycle in my garage that I've been fixing up. I finished the engine a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm working on putting the whole thing back together, and then I'll paint it."

"Oh—I didn't know you were a mechanic!" Mettaton flipped his sunglasses up in surprise. "Have you built anything else?"

"I built a good chunk of the puzzles back in Snowdin! And since we came to the surface I've been studying car engines. It's fascinating, how all the tiny little parts go together to make something that can power a two-ton vehicle! And semitruck engines are even _better!_ Imagine being able to power something that weighs _forty_ tons! I wish I could get my hands on one of those!" Realizing how utterly _geeky_ he sounded, he shut up.

"Oh, no, honey, keep going. I love it when people are passionate." Indeed, Mettaton's eye sparkled as if he were just as excited about truck engines as Papyrus was. "You know, you should talk to Alphys about mechanical stuff, she would love it."

Papyrus looked out to Alphys, who was sitting in a floating chair in the pool, and seemed to shrink slightly. "I would, but… I don't know. She doesn't seem too interested in talking to me."

Mettaton frowned. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"But it's alright! I know Alphys is a very anxious person and undoubtedly she would be intimidated by someone as great as me," Papyrus added hurriedly.

"Yes, I suppose." Mettaton did not suppose that at all, but he didn't press the issue. "Well, you can talk to me about it anytime you want. Can't guarantee I'll understand everything, but it's nice to learn new things. So tell me more about this motorcycle you're working on."

Papyrus's face lit up, and he launched into the history of the make and model of the motorcycle, as well as an explanation of how the engine worked. After that, Mettaton asked him what color he was thinking of painting the motorcycle, how motorcycle, car, and semitruck engines all differed from each other, and if Papyrus would ever try to rebuild a whole car and how he might do it. All in all, Papyrus spoke for nearly a full hour, and Mettaton took in every word, strangely enraptured by Papyrus's excitement and happiness at being able to talk about something that was obviously very special to him.

Soon enough it was time to clean up for supper, and the meal seemed more pleasant than usual to both Papyrus and Mettaton. Papyrus felt oddly lighthearted after absolutely gushing about something he loved, and Mettaton was happy that he had made someone else happy just by letting him speak. The robot was troubled briefly—wondering if anyone had ever given Papyrus the opportunity to do that before. It was a real shame, if that were the case… but just as he had the thought, dessert was served, and Mettaton got caught up in a large, savory slice of butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

Both monsters drove home that night feeling refreshed and relaxed. Mettaton didn't even dread the boringness of tomorrow, as he had come to do every night. Papyrus had inspired him to start learning—learning about anything he could get his hands on. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before; he knew how to use Google, after all, and it would be so simple to get information about any and every possible subject he could think of.

Mettaton vowed to talk to Papyrus more often, partially because he made things far less boring, and partially because Mettaton wouldn't be able to forget Papyrus's smile as he talked.

He didn't _want_ to forget that smile.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: I forgot to post this a couple of weeks ago. another chapter is coming along in a few minutes. I'm planning on updating this thing more often by using deadlines, so I guess we'll see how well it works!

Don't forget to leave a review if you enjoyed, or if you have any questions, criticism, or general commentary!


	18. Dance

"Oh, Blooky, can you imagine? I mean, look at this thing!" Mettaton pointed at his computer screen, eye sparkling. "It says the _minimum_ weight for these things is ten thousand pounds! Some of them are even heavier! God, I can see why Papyrus gets excited about these things, I want to drive one now!"

Napstablook stared at the screen curiously. "But I thought you said Papyrus liked semitrucks and sports cars…"

"Yes, but how different is a monster truck from a semi, really? I mean, they both have 'truck' in the name. And they're both really heavy. But monster trucks are easily the better of the two, check this out!" Mettaton clicked a video that showed a truck flipping through the air at some kind of derby. "These rallies are popular in America, I've heard. I wish they had them more often over here, I'd love to go to one."

"They look dirty…" Napstablook noted.

"Well, we used to work on a farm, so it's not like we aren't used to that." Mettaton shrugged. "Anyway, I just thought it was cool. I've been looking up things about trucks all day and this was the most interesting thing I found."

Napstablook did not understand their cousin's new obsession, but they didn't deter him. They simply nodded and disappeared from Mettaton's bedroom.

Mettaton sighed. He'd stayed up late looking up motorcycles too, and had tried chatting with Alphys about them that morning before she went to work. However, she had been far more interested in her coffee than what Mettaton was talking about.

Mettaton found himself missing Papyrus a bit. Somehow, he felt like even if the skeleton found a topic to be the most boring in the world, Papyrus would give the conversation his full attention and respond with just as much enthusiasm as the other person had.

Then Mettaton smacked himself in the head. He didn't have to miss Papyrus, it was Sunday! It wasn't like he was at work! He picked up his phone and hit the contact for the skeleton.

It was a few seconds before someone picked up on the other end. "Hello?"

Mettaton started. "Papy, darling, you sound terrible! Did you catch something?"

"This is Sans."

"Oh." Mettaton blinked. "What are you doing with Papyrus's phone?"

"It was on the kitchen table. Papyrus is out in the garage. Workin' on his bike again."

"Oh, how lovely. Well, I won't bother him, then," Mettaton replied disappointedly.

"Hey, uh—wait a second." Sans sounded hurried—and worried. "Has, uh… what did you think about Papyrus last week?"

"Last week? You mean when we watched that movie?" Mettaton thought back. "Well… he was acting odd, but we all know that, don't we?"

"Yeah, I mean—I just wondered what you thought might be causing it. Never mind it—"

"Wouldn't _you_ know about that? You are his brother," Mettaton interrupted. "Is it my business, anyway? As long as he isn't sick, I don't—I don't know. And it seems strange to be talking about this behind his back anyway."

"Yeah—yeah, sorry. Never mind it." Sans seemed to tap his fingers on something. "He didn't say anything to you about meds yesterday?"

"Meds? Like medication? Why would he say anything about medication?"

"Nothing. Forget it. I'm gonna hand you over to him now." A chair slid back, and there was a small thump.

"You don't have to do that, I don't want to bother him—"

"It's okay, he'll kill me if I told him you called and I didn't give him the phone. Hey, Pap, someone's on the phone for you."

Mettaton heard a distant, reedy tenor voice. "Oh? Hand it over then… Sans, why did you wait over a minute before telling me about this? So rude." The voice was suddenly much closer. "Hello?"

Mettaton smiled. "Hello, darling."

"Mettaton!" Papyrus gasped, and there was a loud smack. After a second, he was back on the line. "Sorry, I dropped the phone! It's alright, though. So, to what do I owe this great pleasure?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd like to just… talk. I've been looking up some interesting things about motorcycles and trucks, and I wondered how what I learned fit in with your knowledge."

"Really?" Papyrus sounded very excited. Mettaton heard a door slam. "Then please—by all means! Tell me what you've learned."

So Papyrus and Mettaton spent another two hours talking about various vehicles. When Mettaton mentioned monster trucks, Papyrus almost yelled into the receiver. He shared Mettaton's fascination with them and disappointment that New Zealand didn't have many monster truck rallies, but did Mettaton know that Auckland, their very own hometown, held a rally every year on November 1st, and wouldn't it be amazing to go see it? Mettaton checked his calendar—luckily, November 1st was a Sunday, so if Papyrus wanted, they would both be free to go! When he pointed this out, he could have sworn he heard Papyrus get up and dance around before answering that yes, he'd love to go!

Their plans made, and voices a bit sore, the two finally said goodbye.

Mettaton lay on his bed, clutching his phone to his chest for a bit while he thought about everything they'd just talked about. It was funny, he'd only met Papyrus a few times, but already Mettaton was finding him one of the most interesting, curious people he'd ever talked to. He grinned before looking at his phone screen again—he'd gotten a couple of phone calls while he'd been talking to Papyrus, but he'd ignored them.

His stomach seemed to drop through the floor when he saw the calls were from Devon—and he'd gotten more than a couple. It seemed the man had called him repeatedly every five minutes for the past half hour.

Mettaton immediately beat himself up for feeling wary—hadn't he said less than two weeks ago that all was forgiven? Hadn't he promised himself he'd give up those silly notions of being—being—

Just then, the phone rang again—Devon.

Without thinking Mettaton hit the green button and put the phone up to his ear. "H-Hello?"

"Hey, Mettaton! What took you so long?" Devon demanded immediately. "I've been trying to call for half an hour."

"I was talking to someone else. Now, what do you want?"

"That's a nice greeting," Devon huffed. "Anyway…" His voice became more lofty. "If you're still interested… I'd still like to take you out."

"A friend outing, or something more?" Mettaton leaned back into the pillows on his bed, stomach churning. He couldn't tell if he was excited or anxious.

"Well…" Devon seemed to truly ponder this question. "I won't lie, I was hoping for something more… but I guess you can decide, if you want to go."

"Mmm…" Mettaton wasn't shocked that Devon wanted a romantic date. A part of him reviled the idea, but he squashed it down, telling himself he was being silly again. "What did you want to do?"

"I was thinking about a sit-down restaurant, maybe one with a dance floor. A fancy place. It'll be fun to dress up."

Mettaton did like dressing up. "Where exactly were you thinking?"

"Well… I have to confess something." Devon sounded rather sheepish. "I already made reservations at the _Plat de Fantaisie."_

" _Plat de—"_ Mettaton sat up, hardly caring that the man had made reservations without asking him first. "Devon, my god, that's the most expensive place in the country! Even _I_ have to cringe at the prices!"

"I know. I figured it'd impress you. I'm sorry about making the reservations already, but I was just too excited at the thought of being there with you." Suddenly, Devon was pleading with him. "Won't you please come? I bet we'll have a wonderful time."

Mettaton bit his lip. The _Plat de Fantaisie…_ Mettaton had only been there once before, and the prices truly did put a strain on even his wallet. But the food was exquisite, the dance floor was always polished, and the gardens surrounding the place were well-kept and beautiful… an outing there really did sound wonderful.

But would it be wonderful if Devon were there?

Yes, it would be, Mettaton told himself suddenly. Maybe this was just what he needed to get over this stupid fear—a perfect night with Devon. Surely he'd learn that Devon meant him no harm.

"What day did you make the reservations for? I'm helping with Frisk Dreemurr's birthday party on Tuesday," the robot answered him finally.

"The reservations are for the 16th of this month. That was the earliest I could get, it's booked solid until then." Mettaton could practically hear Devon smiling. "So you'll come, then?"

"Yes," Mettaton said after a few seconds of deliberation.

"Great! I can't wait to see you. I bet you'll look ravishing," Devon responded, his voice dropping low.

Mettaton couldn't stop himself from smiling a little. "Thank you. And thanks for the date, too."

"Don't worry about it. If you're thinking about what to wear, I think that red dress from last time would work well. It's a very fancy restaurant, after all. Well, I've got to go. I'll be seeing you!"

After the call, Mettaton lay on his bed for a while, thinking. Was it strange that he was more excited for that monster truck rally with Papyrus than he was for the date with Devon? No, he decided, dates made you feel less excited and more… nervous, considering what they entailed. Yes. He was just nervous for the date, that was all.

Mettaton rolled off his bed went back to his computer to bury his anxiety in more monster truck facts.

Ω

Papyrus sat on his couch for a while after his phone call with Mettaton, marveling over the fact that he'd gotten a date with the celebrity at a monster truck rally of all things! Well, was it really a _date?_ Mettaton probably wasn't interested in Papyrus as a romantic partner (though a skeleton could dream), so calling their planned outing a "date" was likely a stretch. Still, regardless of friendly or romantic intentions, he was going to go somewhere with Mettaton in just a few months! Wasn't that exciting?

For the rest of the day, Papyrus felt as though he were dreaming. He worked on his motorcycle, but it was a much slower process than usual as he daydreamed about the rally and Mettaton cheering at the antics of the huge trucks and smiling at _him—_

The fantasies grew wilder toward evening. Suppose Mettaton had meant for it to be a real date after all? Papyrus could only imagine what the robot would say to him at the end. _"Oh, darling Papy, I've had a wonderful time. You truly are great for suggesting this… I would love to kiss you now."_ The idea of a kiss from Mettaton made Papyrus's heart soar.

For the first time in a while, Papyrus was able to sleep through the night with no nightmares—in fact, it seemed his fantasies had become real dreams. He awoke the next morning blushing as though he and Mettaton had really been making out.

That was what made him attempt to stop fantasizing. He knew his dreams were farfetched and dwelling on them would only bring him heartache. His outing with Mettaton would be just that—an outing. Nothing romantic about it.

Still, a few of his milder daydreams persisted.

On Tuesday they picked up again in intensity, mostly because Papyrus knew he'd be seeing Mettaton tonight at Frisk's birthday party. Would Mettaton reveal any romantic intentions then, he wondered?

He dressed himself for Frisk's party after work, trying to figure out what would be fit for a party and also impress Mettaton. After trying on several outfits, he settled on a red button-down shirt, white pants, black suspenders and bowtie, and loafers. After thinking a minute, he got a little bowler hat from his closet and placed it on his head. He smiled at himself in the mirror—didn't he look just dapper!

"Sans!" he called as he exited his room. "I hope you're almost ready for the party! I refuse to be late this time!"

"Don't worry, bro, I started getting ready hours ago." Sans stood outside his own room, dressed similarly to Papyrus, but in a blue shirt and minus suspenders or a hat. "You wanna take the car?"

"It's a beautiful day outside, no need for it. If you really want I'll carry you again," Papyrus sighed, but not bad-naturedly.

And he did end up carrying his brother down to Frisk's house again. His heart rate picked up as soon as he saw a pink car in the driveway—Mettaton was already here!

Toriel greeted them at the door, complimenting their outfits and directing them through the house to the backyard. The kitchen was set with gifts on the table and food on the counter, and the furniture on the back deck had been pushed back. Lights were strung everywhere, and some old jazz music was playing, encouraging everyone who could hear it to jump on the dance floor.

Papyrus saw Mettaton leaning against a banister on the deck and stopped short. The robot was dressed in a pink button-down shirt, white pants, white suspenders, black bowtie, his signature pink boots, and even a white bowler hat—nearly identical to Papyrus's outfit. The skeleton could have died right then and there, except Mettaton had already seen him and waved him over. Papyrus approached almost shyly.

"Well, don't you look handsome." Mettaton smiled at him.

Papyrus's legs felt like jelly. "Haha… yes… I'm very sorry about that, I really had no idea you would wear something like this…"

"I wasn't being facetious, darling. I think it's very cute on you. Especially that hat."

"Oh!" The skeleton's legs still felt like jelly, but for a different and happier reason. "You look—very nice as well."

"Thank you. I just love dressing up. It's so much fun." Mettaton, however, didn't seem to be having a lot of fun at the moment—his eyes were focused on something distant, and—had his voice just trembled slightly?

After a moment's hesitation, Papyrus decided to press. "Is—is something wrong?"

"No," Mettaton said vaguely. Then he seemed to change his mind. "Well… I wouldn't say something's _wrong,_ really. I'm just—a bit nervous. Uncertain." He gestured toward the pool with his head.

Papyrus followed him off the deck, wondering what on earth could make the fabulous Mettaton nervous. They both took chairs next to the water, and after thinking over his words carefully, Mettaton began to speak.

"So… I've been asked out on a date."

Papyrus's heart stopped.

"He's taking me out to a really fancy place later this month, but I'm just… I think I like him, but I'm not sure yet," Mettaton continued. "See, he—kind of—I don't really know how to describe it—" He bit his lip. "Hurt me. But it was kind of a misunderstanding, he's apologized and I'm supposed to have forgiven him. Part of me is excited to try something new, I've never actually gone on a date before, but—"

"What?" Papyrus was shocked. "You've _never_ been on a date before?"

"I haven't. I mean, people have asked, but I've never been particularly interested before," admitted Mettaton. "This man—he's very interesting. And I think I may like him? But I don't think I'll really know until the end of the date. But I don't know if he's going to, you know, try anything while we're together."

"Try anything?"

"Like, I don't know, kissing me or something." Mettaton pursed his lips. "I think it'd be too early for that."

"Perhaps…" Papyrus thought hard. "Well… I'm afraid I don't have much advice to give you—I also have no real experience in the dating department. However, I am sure that you will have a fun time, and that whoever asked you out is a very lucky man!"

Mettaton smiled and looked away. "Yeah, I guess you're right. He _is_ pretty lucky." He sighed. "I guess we'll just see what happens."

"Right! Now, I believe there is a party to get to," Papyrus said cheerily, inclining his head toward the deck behind them.

"Of course." Mettaton stood. "I didn't mean to bring the mood down with my… issues. Let's go have fun, shall we?"

Papyrus nodded, and the two went back to join the others.

Everyone had arrived by now. Frisk had waited to come down from their room, and now they presented themself to the crowd, wearing a traditional _kaitaka paepaeroa,_ or Māori cloak. The festivities began with games from Frisk's native culture such as _teka_ (a dart-throwing game), _tī rākau_ (throwing sticks to each other in time to a chant), and _whai_ (competing to create the most complex pattern with string, only using the fingers). Frisk insisted they all play fairly and not just let the child win, so Undyne ended up winning _teka,_ Mettaton won _tī rākau,_ and Papyrus won _whai._

After the games, Toriel served a special dinner of roast chicken seasoned with bush herbs and _taewa tutaekuri,_ a kind of potato of an unusual deep purple color. Then the chocolate cake was brought out, set with nine candles, each one representing a year of Frisk's life. The child could not hold back a smile as their family sang _'Hari huritau ki a koe'_ ('Happy Birthday') to them.

When the dinner was over, Frisk wanted to start the dancing. They insisted on doing the first few dances by themself, along with a partner—first with Toriel, then Asgore, and then Flowey (much to his chagrin). After that, almost everyone joined in—Toriel with Lulu, Undyne with Alphys, even Sans with Grillby (though he really only stood on the fire monster's feet as they turned in circles). Frisk got Napstablook to join in on the fun, but both Asgore and Flowey declined to dance anymore, at least for a little bit.

Papyrus sat on a bench by himself, believing nobody would ask him to dance except maybe Frisk later on.

He was wrong.

Before he knew what was happening, Papyrus saw Mettaton approach and hold a hand out to him, and he took it unthinkingly. And suddenly he was dancing, dancing with _Mettaton—_ or rather, tripping over his own feet with Mettaton in shock and confusion. Mettaton caught him before he fell. "Are you alright?"

"I'm—fine," Papyrus said, looking up into Mettaton's dark eye. "I was just—you took me by surprise."

Mettaton smiled and pushed Papyrus back up to his full height, over half a head taller than the robot. "Sorry about that. You just looked a bit lonely over there."

Oh… so this was a pity dance. Papyrus felt disappointed that Mettaton didn't _really_ want to dance with him for fun, or because he liked him. But as usual, he took the disappointment in stride. "Well, thank you!" he replied brightly, perhaps more so than he needed to sound. "I think I should enjoy dancing with you."

Papyrus's disappointment melted away as Mettaton smiled genuinely again and answered, "And I should enjoy dancing with _you."_

Papyrus got butterflies in his stomach as he realized they were dancing to a song about romance. He found himself gazing into Mettaton's face as he listened to the lyrics.

 _Life could be a dream  
If I could take you up in paradise up above  
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love  
Life could be a dream, sweetheart_

"It's a great song," Mettaton noted, breaking Papyrus out of his reverie. "Written all the way back in 1954, I think."

"Wowie… that's over a hundred and fifty years ago!" Papyrus marveled, eyes wide. "How did you know that?"

"I like music history. I read about it a lot," admitted Mettaton. "I don't get to talk about it very much, though. Blooky's more into the technical aspects of it, and composing it, and Alphys could hardly care less about it."

"I'd like to hear about it!" Papyrus encouraged him, remembering how attentive Mettaton had been to his own interests.

"Well—"

Just as Mettaton tried to think of something to tell him about, Papyrus was grabbed away from him. "Sorry, robo-butt!" Undyne called as she spun away with the skeleton. "I want a chance with this guy!"

Mettaton stood with his hands on his hips, rather annoyed. "You could have just asked!" But she couldn't hear him, as she was already talking to Papyrus.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. Asgore was offering him a hand. "Young man, may I have the honor of a dance with you?"

Annoyance forgotten briefly, Mettaton smiled and took his hand. "You may."

Everyone was really mixed up now—Frisk was with Alphys, Toriel had somehow gotten Grillby, Sans was standing on Lulu's feet, and now Napstablook floated off to the side with Flowey. Laughter and small talk filled the air as the song in the background continued.

 _Every time I look at you  
Something is on my mind  
If you do what I want you to  
Baby, we'd be so fine!_

"What's Mettaton doing over there, seducing you?" Undyne teased Papyrus as they danced. "If you had eyeballs, it looks like they would have popped right out of your head!"

Papyrus laughed absently, finding himself looking over his shoulder constantly for Mettaton. Suddenly Undyne's hands slipped from his own and were replaced with tiny human ones. Frisk had gotten in between the two friends and stolen Papyrus! The skeleton smiled and tried to focus on jumping back and forth with the increasingly rambunctious child.

But after a few minutes, a glamorous voice said, "Alright, Frisk, darling, if you'll take Asgore, I'll take Papyrus back, thank you!" And just like that, Papyrus and Mettaton were dancing together again.

"Sorry about that, Papy. What did Undyne want, anyway?"

"Oh… she, uh. Thinks you're trying to seduce me, I guess?" Papyrus laughed, embarrassed at the thought.

Mettaton laughed too—his genuine, snortier one. "Seduce you? Why on earth would I do that?"

"Haha… yes… why would you?" Papyrus's laugh was significantly more mirthless this time.

Mettaton seemed to realize he'd said something off, and fell silent as the last stanza of the song played.

 _Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)  
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)  
And tell me, darling, I'm the only one that you love  
Life could be a dream, sweetheart_

Life _would_ be a dream if only Mettaton would say he loved Papyrus, the skeleton thought. But that was ridiculous. They'd only met a few weeks ago and hadn't talked _that_ much yet. Besides, Mettaton was interested in someone else, undoubtedly someone as rich and famous as he was. Someone who was far more interesting than Papyrus.

"For what it's worth, I think you're a lovely person, Papyrus, and—well, I mean—" Mettaton actually blushed slightly. "Well. I'd really be surprised if someone doesn't fall for you. You deserve someone just as nice and enthusiastic as you are."

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Mettaton's words did hit home for Papyrus. Nobody had ever told him anything like that before—in fact, most people, Papyrus included, rather seemed to subconsciously (or not) expect him to stay single for a long time, if not for life. And yet, here was one of Papyrus's favorite people, telling him that Papyrus staying single would be _surprising._ "Thank you," he said after a moment of trying to hold back tears.

Both monsters were now simply standing as the others danced to a new song. Papyrus cleared his throat. "Well, my bones are aching a bit. How about we sit down, and you can tell me about some of that music history?"

Mettaton's face brightened, and the two of them took a seat on the nearby bench. For a good while, Mettaton chattered on about the history of music—songs that predated written history, ancient melodies from the 14th century B.C., Gregorian chant from the medieval period, and much more. He had only just gotten to the classical composers of the 18th century when Frisk pulled them back into the festivities so they could open their gifts.

It was late when the party finally came to a close. Frisk thanked their family for a wonderful ninth birthday, and the monsters all said goodbye to the child and each other.

On his way out the door, Papyrus caught Mettaton very quickly. "If you want, you can text me about more of that music history sometime! I'd like to hear more about that Beethoven guy, he sounded really interesting."

Mettaton smiled as he got into his car with Alphys and Napstablook. "Of course, Papy. At this point, I have all the time in the world to do that."

Papyrus went home that night feeling a bit conflicted in his emotions, his sadness about Mettaton dating another man pitted against the same refreshed and happy feeling he'd had after the day of Frisk's pool party. It was funny how similar he and Mettaton seemed from time to time—just as he didn't get to talk about his love of cars and trucks often, Mettaton didn't appear to talk about his love of music history very much. The robot had looked truly happy as he spoke, and the thought of his smile caused butterflies to swarm in Papyrus's stomach region.

As for the sadness he felt—Papyrus knew it was time to set his silly dreams aside for good. Just being friends with Mettaton was a glory in itself; logically, Papyrus should be happy that he even got the opportunity to do that.

Now if only his illogical heart would cooperate.

 **oooooooooo**

A/N: I was able to get this chapter up on AO3 by my deadline so it looks like my deadline plan is working so far!

Some of you can probably see where I'm going with Mettaton and Devon. Pwease don't throw tomatoes, that part of the story won't be pleasant but it won't be graphic either. And this fic is mainly about recovery and true romance, after all.

Check my Tumblr blog papytonlesbian if you'd like to see more Undertale and Deltarune content as well as updates on writing and life in general!

Don't forget to leave comments if you liked this or if you have questions, criticism, or general commentary!


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